The Girl on the Train
by The Lady Frost
Summary: There once was a boy with a badge and a girl with a bike - they rolled into a city turned necropolis and became heroes. This is the short story of how they stopped fighting, and finally found each other.
1. Boy Meets Girl

**The Girl on the Train**

 **Part One:**

 **Boy Meets Girl**

* * *

 _A fonte puro pura defluit aqua_

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

* * *

 **Raccoon City, 1998**

* * *

Somewhere between the time he'd left the house and the time he'd left for the first day on the job, he'd stopped at a place called Rosemary's. Rosemary's was a small one room salon on the corner of west shit street and nowheresville. It was run by a woman who smelled of cigarettes and summer sunshine and scotch. It was a heady combination to a kid just fresh out of the police academy and looking to piss off his father.

The old man had his days where he was, at best, tolerable. Today had not been that day.

He'd pointed his finger at his second born son and declared, "You understand me Leon Scott Kennedy, you will rue the day you decided to try your hand at rebellion. This will bite you in the ass before it is done, you can make bank on that."

The oldest son, Leon's brother Tate, had followed the path of least resistance and headed off to law school to be another cog in the wheel. Leon, always the outcast and sometimes the nerd, had gotten tired of being the second rung on the ladder of legacy to his father, so he'd said "fuck it" to a life of convention and joined the police academy. At first, the old man had been irate.

But, after further reflection, he decided a son who was on the other side of the wheels of justice meant political success for the Kennedy name and so he'd gotten behind the idea. He'd made a few calls, greased a few palms, and lined up the perfect job for his second banana son to stream line his way to police chief and seal his fate forever as the legal finger in a bigger pie of justice that his father was trying to cultivate.

Leon was already on a very narrow tightrope with the old man to start with. He was a "god-damn hippie, tree hugging, free love endorsing, second amendment hating liberal" in a family of conservative republicans. He wasn't, he was all about the second amendment, but the rest was probably too. Leon was all about the free love.

He figured, why the fuck not? In a world where no girl had ever really sniffed around his dick, why not back the idea of free dick love for everyone? Somebody out there deserved to get laid man. If it wasn't him, it should be somebody.

He'd come down the stairs one morning, in his baggy academy sweatshirt and jeans, just prior to leaving for training, with his ponytail happily trailing down his neck and his father had nearly had a stroke. His son, HIS SON had girl hair. "Do you see this Muriel!?" He yelled at his wife, who at 8 a.m. was already on her second coffee cup liberally laced with Irish. "Your son is a god-damn hippie!"

Tate, his perfect brother, had been home from law school and sitting at the table in the palatial Virginia estate that always made Leon feel like he was walking through the pages of _Better Homes and Gardens._ Tate had all the looks in the Kennedy family. He was six foot two and muscular. He was dark haired and blue eyed and charming. Girls fell over themselves trying to get close to him. Tate was twenty four and already engaged to a girl with two last names like a proper Kennedy. She was ugly, skinny, and came from money as old as the hills.

Again, he was the golden boy.

Tate looked at him and laughed, "Relax Dad, seriously. He's rebelling. That's what the nerdy kids do after highschool."

Leon, all skinny legs and awkward angles, had hunkered down in his sweatshirt and scowled. He'd run out the front door as fast he could to meet up with his girlfriend. Maggie…MAGGIE. She was everything that mattered. And she loved his hair. Loved it.

They'd spent the afternoon before he left making holding each other. Such good kids, they didn't do more than closed mouth kissing and holding hands. They'd hug and lay together and snuggle. She'd wanted to go all the way of course that day. But he wanted to marry her first. She cupped his face and said, "You know your Daddy will never let you marry me."

She was right of course. She was poor and didn't have anything but his heart. It turned out that wasn't ever going to be enough for the Kennedy name. So, she'd broken his heart instead and ran away to leave him aching in the street.

He'd honestly thought he'd die from the pain of it. He'd gone into the academy the next day mourning her like she'd died. It pushed him harder and faster to do the job and thrive at it. The skinny little hippie went into the police academy and burst out of his cocoon. He'd gone in a child and come out a man.

The old man had nearly shit a brick when he told him he wasn't going to take the job he'd lined up. The call had come out across the radio while he'd been at the academy, Raccoon City – Umbrella's burgeoning baby, was seeking qualified police presence to help patrol and protect the city. The recent crime wave meant a stronger police force.

Here, he thought wildly, my chance to be the hero. My chance to prove I'm a man.

He'd taken the job.

His father went apoplectic. He went apeshit. He swore he would disown his younger son if he didn't decline the job. Looking back on it, Leon figured the old man probably knew something was rotten in Raccoon City. He had his fingers in more pies than a baker. He knew something was wrong.

And he'd let his son go anyway. The old man always knew how best to punish his children. He probably figured anyone who went against him, offspring included, deserved what they got.

So, he'd gone into Rosemary's to cut off the hippie hair and look more like a respectable police officer. He was in his R.P.D. uniform, nervous like a prom date, and utterly adorable. Rosemary had taken one look at him and said, "Nope. I'm not cutting all that beautiful hair off."

She'd given him the haircut. THE HAIRCUT. He'd stared at it, curious if he could rock it, and she'd said, "Honey…that face…you own this haircut. Don't have to go army short to prove you're a serious cop, darlin. Prove that through your actions, not your looks."

Rosemary was the wisest woman he'd ever met. She was also talkative and apparently a helluva hairstylist. But she also made him late on his first day on the job.

He'd eaten up the distance between her shop and the highway that led to the 109 into Raccoon City at a furious pace. His apartment was still filled with unopened boxes, he'd lost his keys twice that day trying to get moved in, and he'd spent twenty minutes trying to find his badge. It was a series of minor things that had resulted in being in a great deal of a hurry.

He whipped the Jeep onto the highway with a vengeance that was palpable. He shifted gears with a personal fury, completely unaware that he was the only car on the road. If he'd been less inclined to hurry, he'd have noticed it. If he'd have been listening to the radio and not a cassette tape, he'd have heard about it. If he'd have lost his keys and not been able to find them, he'd have been trapped in his apartment fifteen miles outside of Raccoon and he'd have never known what waited there.

He rocketed past the sign welcoming him to the city and straight into the worst night of his life. The woman in the road brought his Jeep to a rolling stop. He hesitated, curious, and glanced around while his radio blared Aerosmith at full volume. He adjusted the volume and idled in the street.

Seeing no hope for it, he climbed from the Jeep and moved to check on the woman lying there. She was on her face and twitching. Drunk? What? He knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. She turned, groaning, and she was as dead as anything he'd ever seen in his life. She was dead.

Dead? How was that even possible?

She took a lunge for his face and he panicked, falling back on his ass on the road. The dead woman crawled on top of him, moaning, bleeding and gurgling. So that was the first time Leon Kennedy had a woman on top of him moaning. It left something to be desired for what came next.

He shouted, grabbing her shoulders to push her away from him. She lunged, snapping her jaws at his throat. She had fish eyes, filmed and colorless. He heard the sounds of shuffling feet, heard the moaning, and started to see the faces in the darkness around him.

He felt the fear lance into his belly and steal his reason. He wanted to panic. He wanted to leap in his Jeep and drive way screaming like a girl. He pushed the snarling, chomping dead woman off of him and rolled to his feet. At least he'd been wise enough to grab his police issue Beretta from the Jeep before he'd climbed out.

He turned the gun on the advancing horde of people…no…not people. Not people. Dead people? No..zombies. ZOMBIES.

"Zombies?" It sounded very loud in the quiet darkness and sort of…squeaky. Faced with the undead for the first time, the great hero Leon Kennedy hadn't started kick boxing and whipping asses…oh no. He'd panicked, shouted, and squeaked in fear.

He backed down an alleyway, separated from his Jeep now by at least ten zombies. Panicked, he kept backing up, and didn't realized he'd backed right into another one. It grabbed him, moaning, and sunk its teeth into the leather strap of his shoulder holster. It saved him from a bite to the shoulder that would have killed him.

Proof, of course, that guns did indeed save lives. Somewhere, his father was thrilled. Leon was somewhat less amused. He stumbled and the zombie stayed on him trying to chew through his holster. He elbowed it in the stomach and it didn't give a shit, it kept on trying to eat him.

"Hey! Over here!" A voice shouted, drawing attention to it.

The zombie stopped chewing and looked up, Leon threw his body weight against it and shoved it off him. The voice yelled again, "Get down!"

He did, just like that. He ducked. A knife whistled by his ear as he dropped to one knee on the ground. He blinked, watching it spin, and it struck hilt deep into the forehead of the zombie. The thing was tossed back and hit the dumpster with a clang of metal.

A girl came running at him through the darkness. She grabbed his arm to help him stand. He blinked at her, still in shock. She grabbed the hilt of her knife, put a booted foot against the chest of the dead zombie, and jerked it clean. The moaning in the street was louder and closer.

She grabbed him by his breastplate and jerked at him. "Stop staring at me and RUN!"

He obeyed and they started running. She grabbed his hand and held it, leading him at a full run through the alleyway until they came out the other side. They raced across the street and were blocked by nearly a hundred shambling corpses.

"Holy fuck," She whispered it, glancing around.

Leon, finally figuring out how to use his brain again, gestured to a police cruiser not far away with its lights flashing. It was casting red and blue shadows all over the ground and the walls around it. They didn't hesitate, they hurried toward it. The person inside was missing but the keys were still in the ignition.

He leapt behind the wheel and cranked over the engine while the girl joined him in the passenger seat. He gunned it and they leapt forward, knocking down bodies like bowling pins. The cruiser jerked, bumped, and smooshed corpses with a nearly reckless glee.

Disgusted, Leon angled them toward the police station.

The silence in the cruiser was loud.

Finally, the girl spoke, "I'm Claire. Claire Redfield. I saw the uniform, I thought…well…I'm looking for my brother Chris. He works at the station. He's S.T.A.R.S."

Leon glanced at her in the semi-darkness. A pretty thing, she was young, he was betting barely out of highschool like him. Her hair was red and sleek, drawn back into a bouncy ponytail. She wore a red leather motorcycle jacket with cut off sleeves over a black skin tight t-shirt. The black biker shorts she wore were graced up top by tiny denim cutoff shorts. The cowboy boots she wore, in good buckskin brown, were old and looked soft and pettable.

He had to admit, she was a pretty bad ass chic for somebody who looked like a dirty boy's idea of a hells angel. She glanced at him, lifted a brow, and said, "Hey handsome, how about you focus on the road for me?"

Well that was embarrassing, he mused, focusing on the road as she'd asked. "I'm Leon Kennedy. I don't know your brother, I'm sorry. This is my first day on the job."

She blinked at him, blinked again, and laughed. "Are you kidding?"

"Nope."

"Helluva way to start a new job man. My condolences."

"Thanks. Any idea what's happening here?"

"No more than you. I talk to Chris three times a week. He's my touch stone. A week went by, nothing. Two weeks, nothing. So, I came looking. Because he always calls. ALWAYS."

"Where were you?"

"College. I go to Ruegar State."

"Ah."

"I hopped on my Harley and headed out here. I figured I'd find him dick deep in some girl, ya know? But not even close! This is nuts! But I can't leave without finding him."

Leon was quiet for a long moment. Claire glanced at him again. "I know what you're thinking…"

"I doubt that."

"I'm crazy right? He's dead. That's what you're thinking."

"No, I wasn't."

"It's ok. It seems crazy based on what we've seen. But he's alive. I know it. Chris is…he's….fuck it. He's just alive. I know ok? I know."

"I believe you." And he did. She was convincing. Her faith was unshakeable.

"Where'd you learn to use a knife like that?"

She smiled and there was something touching on her face. Leon felt a little sad that he'd never felt that close to his brother…or anyone in his family for that matter. "Chris. He taught me everything he knows. Our parents died…" She was silent for long time, gathering her thoughts, "They died in car crash. I was barely seventeen. Chris got custody of me, he fought for it. He was barely twenty one. But they gave him custody of me. So…he taught me everything he knew. He put me through college. I'm not leaving him here. If he's here, I'm going to find him."

That unshakeable faith had been the first time he'd come face to face with the power of love. It was something that had stayed with him as they crawled through the sewers, as they uncovered the truth, as they were sucked deeper into the quagmire of what Umbrella was doing under that city. Through it all, Claire's belief in her brother never wavered. It was her light, her strength, and what gave her hope.

He'd met Ada beneath the city and started following her like a dog. If he hadn't, he probably would have chased after Claire a little bit. She was something. He saw her bravery, her loyalty, her skills. She was smart and sassy and spent a good deal of time giving him a general good ribbing.

They'd turned down a hallway and come face to face with their first licker together. It had nearly gutted them before they'd put it down. Claire had finished it off with a clean shot to the head.

As it lay there, in a nasty pool of its own congealing blood, she'd said, "I generally like a long tongue too…I think I'm going to need to reevaluate my feelings on that."

He'd laughed, amused despite how awful things were. They'd moved into the S.T.A.R.S. office and rooted around, looking for anything that would point them toward her brother. He knew, the moment she'd sat in that cruiser and confessed her desire to save Chris, that he'd help her. It was the only thing he could do.

They'd found enough information in the office that it was easy to believe he'd been alive, very, very shortly before that. There was even some indication he was no longer in the city. But they were in it now, they were hip deep and sinking fast. They had to see it through.

They decided to look for other survivors. They came across Sherry, who fled at first sight of them, and they had to give chase to her. She'd disappeared into the air vent….and the first battle with the trench coat Mr. X had begun.

Ugly, sexless, frightening like a pale faced demon, Mr. X had come seeking the girl and found them instead. It had decided to kill them anyway. That's what it was made to do after all; kill. They'd fought it until it had scented the girl it was chasing and left them to recover themselves.

During the battle, Leon had been knocked into a wall and burst out the other side, sliding across the floor of the office he'd landed in until he hit the desk there and came to a stop. He was still learning how to breathe again, deciding if anything was broken, when Clarie had come running in. She'd knelt beside him and checked him for injuries.

"You sure are a clumsy guy, aren't you?"

Leon Kennedy, the man who could move circles around a hundred men, had started out as a wet behind the ears, awkward, bumbling rookie cop that couldn't even really throw a punch. He'd winced as she helped him up. And that was the first moment they'd have and both of them would wonder.

She'd turned her head to smile at him and he'd turned his to look at her. They'd held eyes. She'd glanced at his mouth, he'd glanced at hers. He'd rotated just a little toward her and she'd hooked a hand into his uniform. Oh, he thought blankly, derp.

She'd closed her eyes and leaned up. Ah, he thought, that's what she wanted. He'd leaned down and kissed her. Soft, gentle, smooth; it was possibly the sweetest kiss anyone had ever given him. They'd drawn apart, both blushing.

Claire had coughed a little and moved out from under his arm. "You ok to stand on your own?"

"Uh…yeah. Yeah."

"Cool."

They looked at each other again. She took a step toward him, he opened his mouth to say something flirty and clever, or more than likely awful and corny, and the sound of Sherry in those vents had pulled their focus.

And that had been it, their first moment of interest in each other.

* * *

The moment the train burst free of the tunnel, sunlight had started to break through the cloudy sky. It was morning. Morning had fallen after the longest night. The night that knew no end. The night that would haunt them forever.

The girl and the boy on the train watched the sun rise, gold and orange. It was a beautiful thing: a promise when there'd been no hope. Bleeding, dirty, tired, hungry and afraid, they'd finally fled the necropolis that had tried to destroy them. They'd uncovered horrors and conspiracy, they'd fought the darkness and survived. And they'd done it together.

On a blanket, the little girl they'd rescued snored softly. She was filthy and small and sweet. And sound asleep. They'd saved her and it was their greatest victory.

Leon Kennedy guided the train to safety and the sun reflected brilliant in the husky blue of his eyes. The dirt on his face defined it and made it seem older than it had twenty four hours before. He couldn't figure out why anything as mundane going back to normal life scared him so much. He only knew that tonight, when the sun set, he'd have to sleep alone. The idea terrified him.

Claire Redfield stood beside him. She was splattered in old blood and had a bruise on her face that was already turning yellow. Her red hair was sticking up in places and she had the faint odor of acrid smoke about her from the fire they'd traversed together.

Leon set the autopilot on the train and ran his hands through his hair, pushing it off his face. It was sticky and itchy with dried blood and sweat. It peeled back like the layer of an onion and settled against his scalp, leaving his handsome face unadorned.

She turned toward him and smiled. "Helluva night, handsome."

"Helluva night." He smiled back and rolled his shoulders. "I couldn't have done it without you. You saved my life back there against that thing."

Birkin. The image of his mutated form would haunt them both forever.

"Ditto. I thought I was a goner against Mr. X."

"Mr. X…what a name."

"It seemed to fit."

"It fits for sure."

Claire coughed a little as the silence drew out between them. "What now?"

Leon shrugged, at a loss. "Honestly? I think we get the information we have to the right people and let them handle it."

"Who's the right people though?"

"Good question."

She turned toward him. "Leon…"

He tilted his head, studying her. The sun flickered over her face, showing him the girl beneath the dirt. She was something. A fighter, a survivor. She had the bravery of a hundred men and the humor of a frat buddy. He only knew one thing about her: he wanted her in his life.

She took his hand and turned it. They slid those hands together and held.

She knew she could tug him in toward her and kiss him. She knew he'd kiss her back. She knew once they did, they'd probably never stop kissing. And she didn't have time for romance.

She had to find her brother.

So..she stayed right there as the train steered them to safety and she simply held his hand.

The moment came when she could choose him, escape with him, run with him...and she chose to chase her brother instead.

And Leon Kennedy?

He stayed behind to protect her, to protect that little girl they'd rescued together, and make sure at least one of them escaped the chains that would bind them both after Raccoon City.

* * *

 **A/N:** _If you think you've read this, you might have. I used it in Absolution for Claire's chapter. This is her chapter, broken down and reworked a little into a short story of it's own. If you want to know what fills in the blanks, you can read Absolution. But as with alot of my works, you don't have to follow this little tale._


	2. Practically a Genius

**The Girl on the Train**

 **Part Two:**

 **Practically a Genius, Pretty Much a Dumb Ass**

* * *

 _A fonte puro pura defluit aqua_

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

* * *

 **Harvardville, 2005**

* * *

The tent was quiet and dark, the girl seated there inside it was grieving. She'd found out the truth, that her attempts to save the world had probably cost it something. The airport…it had been over run…if they'd just gotten out of the way…the vaccine could have been administered and the infection controlled. Now…there was only death for those inside who had turned.

Claire put her hands to her face and wept.

He found her there inside the tent, the boy who had become the man. Almost a decade had passed since that first night together in Raccoon City but some things remained the same: the T-Virus was still trying to destroy the world, the bad guys were still trying to take it over, and he was still rocking that haircut he'd been given all those years ago.

Leon ducked inside, looking for her. He knew she'd be taking it hard.

He hesitated, seeing her crying, and wondered if he should leave her to her privacy.

She lifted her head and saw him, gesturing with one hand while she wiped her cheeks. She hiccuped, cutely, and smiled a little. "Sorry…moment of weakness. You try to do the right thing, ya know? And this happens."

He hesitated again, the iceman, the person they called when they wanted it done quick, quietly, and without remorse. He decided to go with his gut. "Claire…this is not your fault."

Tears filled her eyes again and she sniffled, "Yeah it is. You know it is. How could we be so wrong? You have the best intentions and you just…it all gets fucked up."

Leon studied her and shifted a little toward her, "Seven years ago you and I walked into a nightmare. We should have died there, Claire. But instead we walked out hell bent on making sure no one else ever had to live it. Umbrella got a nuke shoved up their ass that night. But the tentacles they unleashed continue to spread their viral legacy. You've done a helluva lot more than any one else I know to try to stop shit like this from happening."

Claire lifted her head to watch him, she rose wiping her cheeks with her hands.

"I got all these people killed, Leon. I have to live with that."

"No." His voice was harsh and deep and caused her to fall silent, "Umbrella killed these people. Umbrella killed them all. I'm going to scrub this virus from the face of the Earth. I do that through bullets and blood and you do it through finding a cure. You chose the role of protector and not fighter. You followed a path your brother and I can't."

She shook her head and turned away, denying the sympathy that he offered. She didn't want it. She didn't deserve it.

He caught her arms and spun around to face him. Surprised, she grabbed his jacket in her hands.

"Claire," Her face was wet with tears when he shook her a little, "You weren't wrong."

She met his eyes, the earnest look on his face, and whispered, "I don't know if I can keep going. All these people, Leon. All these people…."

Two tears slipped from her eyes and trembled there on her lashes before they fell, sliding over her damp cheeks. "How can I keep going? How can I look at myself in the mirror?"

"Facing yourself in the mirror is a part of this, Claire, the hardest part. But you shouldn't regret the battles you lose. You shouldn't. You can't win every one of them. You should only regret the ones you choose not to fight. You can't stop, if you do…that's the only time you should ever be ashamed to look at yourself in the mirror."

She scanned his face in the dim light of the tent, looking for what? For hope? For the answers?

No, he thought, she was looking for absolution.

"Leon, I don't know if I have your strength."

"Claire," His voice was gruff, harsh, and deep. Such a change from the voice of the boy she'd known, "You've always had twice my strength. How many times do you have to save my life before you realize that?"

She made some sound of regret, some sound of mourning. Later, he'd think it had to go the way it went, for both of them. And maybe it had been years in the making. Or maybe they both just needed to feel something but the cold, hard, hateful regret that flickered around the room like broken light bulb, winking and threatening to go out and leave them, broken, in the dark.

He knew only that he didn't want her to hurt anymore. And she knew only that she wanted to leech off his strength, his indomitable will, and his light for just a little while. She pulled at his jacket. He pulled at her arms.

His hands slid up from her arms to cup her face. She fisted her fingers into the cool leather of his jacket and clung. She made that sound again and kissed him.

Surprised, he froze for a moment before he could gather his thoughts. She had her eyes tightly closed and her cheeks were wet and pink from crying. Her hair was soft and red and pretty in the low lights around them.

And she made that sound again in her throat.

He echoed it, a sound of need, and his arms slid around her and pulled her hard against him. One hand cupped the back of her head, the other looped at her waist to draw her up to him. He lifted her off her feet to hold her against him.

She gasped a little and made a little moan. A tiny sound, small, but it put a fire in his blood that was nearly painful. He tasted the salt of her tears and stole that moan from her mouth with his. Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him tighter to her.

Leon felt the warm brush of her tongue against the seam of his lips and let her inside. They both made a sound then, something like a hum from her, something like a groan from him. Of course there was no way for her to know what kind of fire she was fanning. How could she? The truth of that celibacy was his own dirty little secret.

What would she have said, he wondered, if she knew she was the first girl who'd ever had her tongue in his mouth?

He answered the thrust of her tongue tentatively at first, unsure of himself. The taste of her was insane. He wondered why he'd never tasted her before. But, of course, he knew that answer too. And it was always wearing red.

Claire Redfield tasted like lemonade on a hot summer day.

Claire made some sound and drew back a little to look at his face. The wonder on her face matched his. "Oh."

He was breathing heavily, looking at her.

She started to extract herself from him and he looked at her mouth again.

She felt the stirring in her belly and said, again, "Oh." She pulled him back down to her mouth. They kissed again, deeper this time. He explored her mouth, testing them both, and himself. They both were making noises as they kissed. She'd moan a little, he'd make some noise like he was starving for her.

She shifted her hands to rub inside of his jacket and touch the warm muscle of him. She'd always wondered what he was wearing under those clothes. She'd always wondered what he tasted like too. How could she not?

Leon Kennedy tasted like hot chocolate on a cold winter night.

They bumped against the wall of tent and Claire made another noise, this one nearly a keen. It nearly broke something in him to hear it. He finally understood the fire filled abyss that waited for him at the bottom of all the need he'd been straddling for years. You'd have to be dead not to be curious what Claire Redfield tasted like. He wasn't dead. He was very much alive.

He tested the bonds of his control and slid his hands down to cup her ass and pull her against him. She purred. She literally purred. Their mouths slid apart so they could both draw air.

She wasn't crying now, nope. She was breathing hard. She held his heavy lidded gaze and slid her hand over him. And that was the first time a woman had ever touched him there as well. She brushed her hand over him through his pants, a tease for them both. And a question. He knew she was asking for something.

Something big. She had no idea how big. She was so beautiful. She was soft but strong and sexy. He trusted her. Hell, he loved her. Had always loved her. It wasn't the kind of love he felt for -

No. He wouldn't let that bitch into his head. Not now.

He kissed Claire again, softer this time, smoother. Yes. He liked the taste of her. He wanted it to be her. He wanted it to be her that took him over the threshold. Wasn't it right that it should be her?

She kept one hand on his distended fly, rubbing at him. Her free hand jerked down the zipper of his jacket and she put her hand inside, rubbing over the smooth, wondrous texture of the moisture wicking shirt he wore.

He pulled at the buttons of the white over shirt she wore until it was open and she just had the thin material of the red long sleeved top beneath it. He pulled her against him so they could feel each other. She moaned, tight against him inside the circle of his jacket. Warm was about right, she thought, warm was what she wanted from him. Hot chocolate on a cold winter night. Something hot to chase away the chill of regret.

His heart hammering, he lifted a hand to cup it over her left breast over the thin layer of shirt she wore. Her breast fit perfectly in his hand. Again, they both made a sound of contentment to finally touch each other. She pulled at his shirt until she could get her hands on the naked skin of his back.

Leon kissed her now like he would die without the touch of her mouth. She murmured his name and drew back a little to look at him again in wonder. God lord, she thought desperately, she'd had no idea what was under the surface here. He was like a volcano, almost searing hot, he bled that greed on both of them and hers rose like a leviathan from the deepest, darkest, most desperate parts of nearly ten years of desire to answer it.

She skimmed her hands around his sides and felt the goosebumps that followed her. And then she touched his stomach. A sound came out of her mouth, a laugh that was muffled by his delving tongue.

She watched his face as he pulled away, his cheeks blushing and pink from desire. He blinked at her, trying to focus. "Funny?"

"No. Not funny. You're perfect. You are really perfect. Even your abs are fucking perfect."

"Sorry." The second the word came out, hoarse and hungry, she had to laugh again.

"Don't be sorry. Lord." She kissed him again, desperate for him.

Ok, he thought, ok. This was..she was…and he wanted to—

The noise from outside the tent sounded like people running. There was a booming litany of curses and someone was shouting about idiots and drums of flammable liquid. Oh my god…

He pulled away and she did at the same time. He set her back on her feet and turned away from her, putting his hands on his knees. He leaned over, breathing heavily.

Claire pressed a hand to her mouth, panting. "Wow."

Leon rose, closing his eyes to regain his composure. How could he forget where they were? THIS WAS A MISSION. He was literally in the middle of an assignment…and he was playing tonsil hockey with his best friend.

Claire pressed her other hand to her heaving bosom, feeling her racing heart. He turned to face her. She blinked at him. "Holy shit. The iceman, they call you. I think you're a big faker, Leon Kennedy. There's nothing cold in you."

He blinked at her and she smiled. She grinned. She rubbed her mouth with her fingers.

"What the fuck man. Where was that in Raccoon all those years ago?"

He stared at her, trying to find the words. He finally lifted his hands to zip his coat. She shook her head and moved to him. She grabbed his shirt and lifted it. Oh yeah, she thought, perfect. Every fucking ridge of muscle and every line…perfect.

"Leon…" She zipped his jacket for him now with a great deal of regret. She ground her forehead against the leather, groaning. "Do we need to talk about this?"

He finally answered, quietly, "No."

"Good." She nodded, breathed deeply, "Thank you for…taking my mind off…things…and for believing in me…" Her hand had a mind of its own and rubbed over the bulge in his pants one more time. He jerked like she'd bit him.

She backed off, hands raised. "Sorry. Sorry. But…maybe we should talk about this. Right? We should talk about…this. After? After right?"

He had no fucking idea what to say. Part of him wanted to ask her to take off her pants, spread herself across that desk in the corner and prepare herself for him. Part of him wanted to call her a cock tease for making him lose his mind. Part of him wanted to run away screaming. The man who'd faced things that no one alive had ever survived and he wanted to run away from what he felt for her. The image of him running like a coward from the tent from one skinny little girl was amusing and made him grin. Embarrassing. So, he said, "Yeah. Right. After. Not now. Now..is…mission. Now is mission time."

Her grin spread, delighted. "Yes. Now is mission time. And I am so glad I'm not the only one who has no clue how to talk right now. Leon, you're my best friend."

"Same."

"Let's just…ok. Now's not the time. Right. But let's just…I am kinda glad we did this."

Surprised, he blinked.

"I've always been curious. I have. And I'd…if you want…but maybe not." Frustrated she shook her head, "I don't think I want that to change. Do you?"

"Not at all." This part was true at least. He didn't want to stop being her friend. "I don't know."

"Ok. So maybe we don't…do this again. Unless…you want to?"

He raised both his brows at her. She backpedaled, adorably. "Right. Let's just say no and be done with it. Mission time. Right?"

"Right. Mission time."

And they'd done just that. They'd finished the mission. What was interesting about it was that they'd never spoken of it again. Besides, how did one ask his best friend on Earth to take his virginity? He figured it would make things insanely complicated if he even attempted to do that. And whatever else was true, Leon Kennedy tried to keep things as simple as possible.

And usually he failed miserably.

They moved down the beach together in the shimmering spill of sunlight. He had scratches across his face, across his nose. She limped a little on the one leg that been damaged in the explosion. They looked like a pair that had survived the worst night of their lives…again. And they had…again.

She turned to him and caught his gaze on her. Things were different now. In the tent, they'd finally touched each other. After all that time, they'd tasted the temptation of what the other offered. It lingered between them like a heady perfume.

Trying to lighten the mood, Claire joked, "When did you go diving together?"

Leon shrugged and smiled, "I'm an accomplished diver."

Of course, they were speaking of Angela, the sister of the recently diseased Curtis Miller. She'd made it clear that she was interested in him. And clearly something had happened in the water. Claire waited for an elaboration and he was surprisingly mum on the subject.

Surprised to feel the little niggle of jealousy, Claire made the conversation polite again, "So what now?"

"Hard to say. I never know from one minute to the next. You need a ride?" He gestured to the chopper waiting for him at the far edge of the beach.

"Nope. I have a limo waiting." And she gestured to the limo waiting at the other.

"Where you off to?"

Claire shifted a little in the sand, hating the discomfort between them. Would she take back what happened to make things ok again? Part of her wanted to, part of her wanted to see what happened next if they both just let it happen.

Confused, she replied, "There's a press conference regarding the outbreak here. We have to take responsibility for the mess that was made. Hopefully we can set it right."

"Good luck with that. It'll be a media firestorm for awhile."

"Yep. I'm used to it."

"Remember what I said, Claire. You didn't do this. You did everything you could to make it right. Don't let anyone take that from you. The second you start to cave, you've already lost."

She lifted her face to him again. The cool breeze off the water played with his hair. It cast the blonde and showed the riot of colors that made the rest of it. Would there ever be a time she didn't want to touch him?

"Thanks. I won't forget. Maybe next time we meet up, it can be someplace…normal."

Leon chuckled a little. "Sounds like a plan to me. What do you think about the Chesapeake Bay?"

Claire blinked, curious. "I've never been there."

"Yeah?" He put his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels a little, "My family has a place there. We could go fishing, take the boat out. What do you think? I've got some furlough time coming to me. I could use the break."

The smile slid over her face and held there. "I think that sounds like the best idea I've heard in weeks. When?"

"How's a couple weeks?"

"I think that's perfect." She smiled at him again, "I guess we should both get a move on here. Pretty rude to keep people waiting huh?"

"Probably," He seemed as reluctant as she was to go though. Touched, she figured it was best to cut the tie before things edged into awkward again.

"So I'll see you soon?"

"You bet."

"Great. Thanks, Leon..for coming. For saving me. You're always there when I need you. I won't ever forget that."

"Claire bear, where else could I be but where you need me to be? Saving each other is what we do."

She smiled at him, "So…see you."

"See you, pretty girl."

Claire hurried toward the limo. She turned back to see him watching her. She wanted to run back and beg him to come with her. She wanted to run back and leap on him like a monkey. She wanted to run back and confess her undying love for him.

Instead, she waved one more time.

* * *

 **Chesapeake Bay, 2006**

* * *

They made the trip to the Bay an annual thing. It felt good there and freeing. And their friendship had blossomed and grown into something so beautifully simple and so painfully complex.

Laughing they hurried into the cabin from the cool air that surrounded the bay where they'd been swimming. The cabin was chilly from the air conditioner. They were in a full blown heated discussion about something completely pointless. And naturally the pointlessness of it was worth arguing about.

"No…it's entirely realistic!"

"Because shooting a banana peel out the back of a go cart to make the other cars slip and spin in circles, just happens all the time?"

Claire chuckled and shrugged, dripping in the cold air. "Mario Kart is the best game ever made. You're just mad because you know I'm right."

"Pfft," Leon shifted to move toward the linen closet on the far wall and grab two big fluffy towels, "I've never seen someone slip on a banana peel."

"Challenge accepted!" Claire hurried, wet, into the kitchen and pulled down a banana. She peeled it, took a big bite, and tossed the peel on the floor in front of him.

Leon glanced down at it, looked at her face, and again at the banana. "I'm sorta confused here. Am I supposed to purposely step on it? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the thing?"

"Go on, hotshot. Put your money where your mouth is and slide on that peel. If you don't slip, you win. If you slip, I win."

Intrigued, he lifted a brow at her. "What's the winner get?"

"To be determined."

"Fair enough." He put his barefoot on the peel and pushed a little. "It's sticky. Not slippery."

"Come on, be fair. Run at the banana peel."

"Hold on, what? I'm supposed to RUN at it?"

"It's only fair." She giggled a little at the stupidity of it and leaned on the counter, watching him. She shivered a little in the cold air. "Come on, tough guy. You study fifty eight different kinds of martial arts. Surely you can best a banana peel."

Leon chuckled, amused, "It's not exactly fifty eight but close enough. What the fuck right? Sure."

He backed up about six feet and ran at the banana peel. In a sense of comedic timing, his foot hit the peel, slipped out from under him, and his ass hit the floor. Claire let out a whoop of success.

"I WIN!"

"Son of a bitch," Leon remarked in wonder, rubbing his tailbone, "It works. You learn something new everyday. I'm throwing banana peels under zombies from now on."

"Right!? That's what I'm screaming." Claire shivered again and moved into the room to help him up. "Thanks for being a good sport about it, honestly. You ok?"

"The ego is worse than the ass, I promise you."

"Oh I don't know about that. It's a helluva ass."

He laughed a little and Claire shivered. "Here. You're freezing." He grabbed one of the big poofy towels and wrapped it around her. He rubbed up and down her arms, putting the warmth into her. He was looking into the kitchen as he did, thinking about dinner.

She was looking at his face as he did it, thinking about him.

"Warmer?" He queried and turned his gaze to her face.

"…oh yeah." She murmured it. He kept on rubbing her arms. She lifted her fingers and started to grab the hem of his shirt.

And he shouted, "Tacos!"

Startled, she dropped her hands and stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"We're having tacos! It's the perfect food." He let go of her and went into the kitchen. Claire blinked, staring at where he'd been. "You can put anything you want on it. I'm thinking fish tacos. The local market here has the best fish. Seriously. You'll die when you have my fish tacos. I don't want to brag but I kinda know my way around the taco."

Amused because she kept picturing all kinds of dirty things, she laughed a little. "I'm sure."

"Seriously. I make a mean tartar sauce, just saying. You'll seriously question how you made it through your life without filling your mouth with it before. You'll want me to put it in your taco every time. For real."

"Oh yeah?" She laughed again and turned to watch him digging out pans. He was whistling while he gathered things for dinner. "I'm going to change, ok?"

"You bet. I'll do that too once I set the fish out to thaw. I'm serious Claire before the night is done, you're going to say Leon, your tartar sauce in my taco is the best thing to ever happen to me. You won't be wrong."

Claire closed the door to her room and burst into heavy laughter. He seriously had no idea how dirty his own comments were sometimes. He was utterly charming, was Leon Kennedy.

She came out to find him cooking the kitchen.

She stopped breathing when she saw him.

He was in pajama pants in a soft red plaid. His feet were bare and so was his chest. He was shirtless. Shirtless. He had music playing on the radio and he was cooking, kinda dancing, and singing along. Shirtless.

Jason Mraz was singing about love love love love. Leon was singing it with him. He had a beautiful tenor, very rich and full. He had a beautiful body. Good lord. And the awkward skinny boy in Raccoon City had grown into a lithe, athletic, pretty rhythmic god. He was a helluva dancer.

He saw her, winked, and decided to sing for her a little bit more. He couldn't know he was killing her. There was no way. He was so…cute. So cute. So utterly cute. The simple act of cooking, dancing, singing and being so very perfectly, utterly, gorgeous was ridiculous.

She figured out she'd forgotten to breathe and she sucked in a hard breath.

He beckoned to her with his hand and she went. She was in a little white tank top and sleeping shorts in pale gray. He pulled her to him, spun her around, and settled into a little dance with her as the song changed and tried to kill her where she stood.

 _They don't know how long it takes…waiting on a love like this…everytime we say goodbye…I wish we had one more kiss…I'll wait for you, I promise you…I will..lucky I'm in love with my best friend…lucky to have been where I have been…lucky to be coming home again…_

He waltzed her and spun her, pulling her close and singing softly into her ear. Her damp hair was loose around her shoulders. His lips tickled her ear. His chest was warm and smooth and steely with muscle. He had to know what was happening here. Surely.

Why else was he playing a damn Jason Mraz CD? Was he torturing her?

She leaned back to see his face. His eyes were closed, he was smiling, he was dancing. He was…so happy. She said nothing. She just watched him while they danced.

His eyes opened at the end of the song. They met hers. She lifted her thumb and skimmed it over the little bit of tartar sauce at the corner of his mouth. And she put it in her mouth.

Softly, she said, "Mmm. Yum."

He glanced at her mouth and back at her eyes and said, "Right? Told ya."

He let her go to go back to cooking.

Claire blinked, blinked again. He was the dumbest man alive. Clearly. He was a complete dumbass about women. She thought about Angela and her "diving" remark. The poor girl. She'd probably pressed her tits all over him and he'd given her some air and not even realized it. CPR for dumbasses.

Amused, she watched him dice cilantro and tomatoes. The song had transitioned to Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis. Yeah, somebody somewhere was sending her signs here.

Curious, she leaned on the counter, "Been diving lately?"

Leon glanced at her from under his hair and chuckled. "What's with the tone?"

"What tone?"

"You didn't like Angela huh?"

Claire shrugged, "She seemed ok. The better question is: how much did you like her?"

Leon started toasting the tortillas. He shrugged a little. "She was cool. And a little sad. And you know, guy that I am, I had to save the girl."

"Yes, you and your savior complex."

"Don't worry my Claire bear. You are still the only one for me."

Ugh.

He had no idea how he tortured girls. He really didn't. He was all jokes and good humor. All senseless charm and steely muscles. He was a unicorn. It was as simple as that. The gorgeous, funny, witty, sort of bumbling innocent man who had no idea he was all of those things. It was why women wanted him. He had no clue that he was the holy grail of men.

"You get that she was into you right?"

"Hmm?"

"Leon, stop chopping."

He did, smiling at her. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked the lime juice from the pad of it. Yep…total dumbass about women. Leon cocked his head, studying her, "What now?"

"Angela. She was in to you. You knew that right?"

Leon shook his head and went back to chopping. "Nah. It was the adrenaline. Surviving the fight does that sometimes. It blurs the lines. I didn't do anything out of line."

"I'm sure you didn't." She was sure of that. "But she was into you. She mentioned diving again. You got the reference, right?"

"Flirting never hurt anyone. We flirt too, right? Harmless." He turned and grabbed an avocado from the fridge.

Right, she thought, harmless. He didn't see her. He didn't get it. Maybe she was the biggest fool of all.

She sighed, smiled, and said, "Right. Harmless. I'm starving. Where's the grub?"

* * *

The warm air brought her out of bed to get a glass of water about midnight. She padded across the tiles to open the fridge.

She was bent over and searching when she heard the clatter. It made her jump and spin. It made him stare.

Yep. There he was, frozen, looking at her like a deer in the headlights with those big blue eyes the size of dinner plates. His water bottle was currently spilling everywhere at his feet where he'd dropped it.

It shouldn't have been a big deal at all...save for her. She'd figured he was sleeping, after all.

The light from the fridge illuminated her from the back. It cast shadows on her breasts and hips. It left NOTHING to the imagination. She was, officially, the girl who was standing there in the doorway of the fridge...butt naked.

She was also the first one to speak, though it squeaked as she did, "...your-your uh...um...your thing...you dropped it. Your...bottle."

He kept on standing there, staring.

Claire put an arm over her tits, uselessly. "...so...I should...I should just...I really..."

Her other hand dropped to cover her mound. The door swung shut as she tiptoed forward, trying to keep all her parts covered. Leon hadn't so much as moved. As she reached his side, she instructed, shortly, "Breathe, Leon."

He did. Harshly. It wheezed out of his lungs like he'd been holding it.

And Claire laughed. She didn't know what else to do. So she just laughed and backed up. "So...we're best friends now huh? No secrets...no clothes. That's how we roll...right?"

He was still staring at the fridge like her naked body was standing there. She coughed, twice, and added, "I feel like maybe you should return the favor. You know? Fairs, fair."

He was already shirtless, standing there in his boxers anyway. What was one last layer? Maybe if he dropped the shorts, she could show him what to do with the big fat boner he was sporting under them.

It was there. She'd seen it as she'd scurried past.

It proved one thing: He wasn't gay. He also wasn't blind. He was, apparently, just that stupid about her.

Her fingers were itching where they were covering all her goodies. She wanted to go back and put her hand in his pants. It was visceral. It was almost painful.

But what kind of friends would survive that?

So, instead, she snapped her room door shut and leaned against it...until she simply dissolved into a puddle of stifled need right there on the floor.


	3. I Lost You, Long Ago

**The Girl on the Train**

 **Part Three:**

 **I Lost You Long Ago**

* * *

 _A fonte puro pura defluit aqua_

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

* * *

 **Sandfort Springs, Colorado, 2007**

* * *

The snow was six inches deep before the fire was out.

The school was lost. It was smoldering ash and destruction. They'd tried for eight days to save it, but the infection had nearly killed every child there before they could contain it.

Someone had released it into the water in the school. It had run like wildfire through the classes.

He'd spent eighteen hours putting bullets into children.

He didn't think he'd ever sleep again.

TerraSave arrived to help administer help to the struggling the community. The losses were heavy. Nearly every child between the ages of five and eleven. Grades from kindergarten to fifth. The whole town - childless in a single attack.

Only a handful of children survived.

When the last of eight children that hadn't been infected had been extracted, they set fire to the whole building and damned the rest to eternal rest. He'd stood in the wavering firelight and questioned his purpose in the world.

He couldn't remember what he was fighting for.

He couldn't do anything but see the faces of the crying children being eaten by their classmates and put down while they wept. There was no cure. No cure. NO CURE.

The bitten were killed the same as the turned.

It put him in the shower with his face turned down and the water beating at his bowed head. The horror plagued him. It left him crippled.

He sat in the heated spray and mourned.

The little girl had cried as they'd held her down. She'd wept for her mommy. She'd bled all over the helping hands that were hurting her. He'd watched them shoot her between the eyes and done nothing.

What kind of hero was he?

In the pounding water, he let go of the pain on a tidal wave of grief and punched the wall until his hand was bloody.

* * *

The knock on his door was unexpected. He figured it was Jim coming to tell him that the morning would bring another wasteland needing a hired gun to end the suffering of those who'd never survive.

Honestly, he needed a vacation. He needed to go out to the Bay and just...breathe.

Instead, he went to the door and opened it.

And found salvation on the other side.

* * *

Claire took one look at him and breathed, "Oh, honey, oh, sweetheart...I'm so sorry."

He let her in, stepping back to leave the door for her to enter.

She came in, looking fresh and soft. The red jacket she wore was the color of wine after it breathes. He wondered if it would look as good with brains splattered all over it.

He wore nothing but the towel gathered around his waist. He circled a hand in the air, inviting her in.

His back was littered with whip marks. Claire froze, looking at the mess of him. When? Why? He'd never say. He likely couldn't. Whatever he did, he never spoke of it. Here, vulnerable and mostly naked, was the inner sanctum of the great Leon Kennedy.

There were a handful of people in the world that got to see the real him.

She spoke into the quiet as he poured another snifter of scotch, "You should have called me."

He laughed, darkly, and it was thick with pain. "Why? So you could run to my rescue? It's done. The children? They all died. I took care of them. The cleaning crew is out there getting rid of the evidence. Isn't that what you do, Claire? You clean up the mess after I do the dirty work?"

He was so angry. He was looking for a target. It was her, conveniently. And that was ok. There was nothing quite like Leon Kennedy in a shame spiral. He had such a big heart, he felt every death like one of his own.

She said, softly, "I do my part, Leon. I comfort those left behind. Sometimes, I have to kill them too when they turn after we think they're safe. I stand in the ashes of what you burn. I try to implement protocols to save people and fail. You saw me fail. You know what I do."

He laughed, mirthlessly, "Yeah. I saw what you did in Harvardville. I know what you do. The great Claire Redfield - her brother kills them, she heals them. You're the white mage to his black one huh?"

What a nerd, Claire thought, watching him drink his sorrows away - always talking magic and dungeons and dragons. It was charming on a package so perfectly male.

"Don't pick a fight with me, Leon Kennedy. I'm not who you're mad at."

He spun, pointing at her. He was shimmering with rage. "I'm not? Aren't I? I'm in this fight because of you. I'm here _because_ of you. You're the reason, Claire. The reason I stayed. The reason I covered. You are. I'm here because you got away...you stole my life."

Jesus.

Her heart cramped in her chest. She scanned his forlorn face looking for the truth in it. It was all over him. He blamed her for what he'd become. He blamed her.

Was that why he'd never really looked at her? Was that why they were best friends but safe from that final leap to something more?

Was the love he felt for her all tied up in hate?

She spoke, almost gruffly, "I never asked you to cover for me."

He shook his head, laughing again. It tinkled like broken glass. "Didn't you? You ran for it. You took off. What choice did I have?" He yelled it and made her jump, "YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT SHERRY! You took off and left me to handle it. What did you think I'd do? Turn you in? I had to protect Sherry!"

He shot back another round of scotch, hissing, "And I had to protect you. You didn't give me a choice, Claire. I am what you made me."

The silence dragged between them. It hurt. It was painful.

Claire finally spoke into the painful void of it.

"You want the truth? I'll give it you." She stalked a step back to him, looked up into his face. "You are the best thing that has ever come into my life. You were the only thing that kept me from giving up that night. The only thing. The best friend I've ever had. There is a bond with you that I will never ever feel with another living person, let alone another man. And that terrifies me." His eyes had softened, just a little. "And you are the biggest, spoiled brat I have ever met. How dare you blame me for what you've become! I _never_ would have asked you to compromise yourself, ever. Never. Don't you dare insult me by blaming me for your life. I made the best I could out of mine, Leon. Your mess? It's all yours. And only a spoiled brat would sit here whining about it."

Hi eyes sparked again as he grabbed her arms, pulled her just a little bit up off the floor until their faces were even. It surprised her. She couldn't remember a time he'd ever put his hands on her in anger. "Protecting you doesn't make me spoiled, Claire. It makes me stupid."

She slapped him, just once, just hard enough that his head snapped back.

His eyes fired, hot enough that she was frightened for a single shining moment. It sent a shiver down her spine as she remembered one thing about him: he was something you feared in their world. He was something that was synonmous with death.

But he was still Leon. Still _her_ Leon and her heart said? He would never hurt her.

"Go on." His voice was gruff, harsh. "Hit me again if it makes you feel better. Does it change anything? Does it? I let you chase your brother that night Claire and throw me under the bus. But not just me...not just me...her too. Sherry too. You left us BOTH."

There was so much pain inside her, so much rage. It shimmered. It made her breath catch. Why? Because part of her thought he was _right._ And it made her despise him.

She whispered, "I hate you."

"...I hate what you've done to me."

Her heart slammed, painfully, and tears sparked in her eyes. She slapped him again and it rang in the quiet room. They were both panting with it as she spat, "That makes two of us...you stupid asshole."

Unleashed, he growled once, darkly, and shoved her. He slammed her into the wall and followed her. It made her back ring, it made her breath catch. It made her heart race.

She had a flash of unnerved fear and his mouth came down, hard and fast.

The moment he kissed her, she responded. To his rage, to her own.

Their mouths smashed together, tongues intertwining. She fisted her hands in his hair and poured herself into him.

He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he turned and walked them to the bed.

He came down atop her, their mouths still fighting furiously for control.

His hands moved furiously over her, jerking at her jacket. She pressed her mouth to his chest, ran her tongue over him. Her hands grabbed fistfuls of the scarred perfection of his back. She jerked hard enough he grunted and thrust his groin against hers so lewdly it made her face flush.

She slapped him again and he laughed. He just...he laughed. It made her feel like her body might melt into the bed and become part of his.

There was the loud sound of her shirt ripping and his mouth was on her, over her, through the silk of her bra. She cursed, madly, "...fucking christ."

And he bit her. He wasn't gentle. Her nipple sent a shock wave into her groin and had her humping crudely against him.

She screamed, arched toward the wet pit of his mouth on her. Her hands raced over his shoulders as his hands jerked at her jeans, pulling them free of her. There was a rustle of clothing, the pant of labored breathing.

She jerked at the towel on his waist to get her hands on him. Her nails raked over his ass and the slick heat of him smeared damply over her belly.

There was a moment, just a flash of it, as he seemed to hesitate but she gripped a handful of his hair and jerked him down to kiss her and he gave in. Her body jerked as he ripped her panties at the hip and he jerked her hips to the end of the bed so he could kneel there and touch her.

He crudely stuck two fingers in her in a rhythm that didn't ask if she was ready. She came almost instantly, slapping at his chest and bucking. He pulled his sloppy fingers out of her and buried his face against the apex of her body.

His mouth clamped over her, hot and fast. She scrambled her hands on the comforter, cried out. The orgasm built in a scalding wave; she felt her body splinter apart from her mind. Her hand squeezed tight on the covers and she threw her head back with a scream.

Leon felt the moment her body tumbled over, felt her release, and never thought he'd ever known such hunger before. All of this was instinct. It was as basic as sex itself. It was boy, girl, and fuck. It was that simple.

He crawled up her body and she lifted her arms to slide them around him. When he was close enough, she lifted her body, ran them along the slickness of his torso. The muscles, there were so many muscles.

She filled her hands with him, almost sweetly. Her stroking was sure and smooth, slick with him and her and deft stroke of her tongue, just once, along the slit of him.

Leon hissed harshly through his teeth. Her hand felt like silk. If she put her mouth on him, he'd go. He wasn't ready. He tugged her face up to kiss her instead. His hands passed against her ruin clothes to pull them off her.

The world shifted - turning red and wet.

He rolled his head against her shoulder and kissed her. It was a little slower this time, a little softer.

He flattened a hand on either side of her head and pushed his lower body against hers. Claire moaned, slid her hands down his sides.

There was a sound of cloth pooling on the ground.

He moved to the edge of the bed, took her hips in his hands. She gripped handfuls of comforter and met his eyes. His fingers passed over the softness of her hair on her mound. Red - like she was. Red - like the need for her.

She was on fire for him.

With a look that was part primal fury, part encompassing passion, he drove himself into her.

Claire cried out as something that was dangerously close to joy slipped through her. She arched her body against him as he leaned just a little over her, bracing himself around her.

She took his face in her hands, a gesture so genuine between them, so pure and whispered, "Yes."

Leon let himself go. Part of him had been afraid, part of him elated.

With something close to a cry, he started to move inside her.

The bed creaked a little with the force of their bodies merging. Claire had a moment to see the colors in the room become a rainbow blur and she was tumbling, screaming, was soaring down into a chasm where there was nothing but feeling and heat and light.

It was minutes really or a lifetime. Or both. Or neither. She reached up to him and he rolled his back down to kiss her so she could hold his face. They watched each other as he filled her.

She felt him tighten and milked him with her body until they were both on the edge.

Leon was over her, in her, wrapped around her like a monkey and he shuddered and laid his mouth against hers as his body erupted inside her.

Movement of bodies rolling, arms and legs that tangled like roots in the earth. He held her, smooth and soft and sweating against his side.

There was the harsh sound of their breathing; a cacophony of sound in an otherwise silent room.

She could feel him, wet and hot deep in her body.

With everything that had built between them, she wanted to say they'd simply fucked each other. It was natural, it was healthy.

But she'd never been a liar.

Claire had thought that the first hint of any kind of passion that edged toward violence would frighten her, send her screaming for the hills.

But she'd never been scared of Leon, never been afraid of anything inside him. Although she could admit, at least to herself, that she'd never imagined that he harbored this kind of desire for her.

She ran a hand down the softly heaving muscles of his stomach.

Dressed Leon was impossibly handsome, beautiful in the purity of his manhood. Naked, he was a revelation.

In her minds eye, she'd never imagined he would look like this.

Her hair fell around them like red edged silk. Leon skimmed his hand through it, another old gesture, and then slid his other hand down her back, over the curve of her butt and this was new.

He hadn't meant for it to come to this between them. Never pictured it as something pent up, something explosive. In his planning, there had been candles and wine and music.

But nothing ever went as he planned with her.

She'd enjoyed him. Hell, she'd clenched around him more then once so he knew she wouldn't be disappointed. But he was terribly afraid she would run. He had no fucking idea what he was doing.

To his surprise, she leaned up on one elbow and looked down into his face. Nothing on her looked upset. She looked flushed, well used, and happy.

He met her eyes, trying to keep his carefully blank. He thought he was doing well until she spoke.

"Well, where have you been hiding Mr. Kennedy?"

He saw her mouth curve and felt his echo it. Maybe she wouldn't run.

There was a suggestion of beard burn around her mouth, on her neck. He lifted a hand and trailed it over the delicate white of her skin.

She saw where his eyes were aimed and smiled again.

"Did I hurt you?"

So there was still something of the man she knew in the god before her.

Claire took his hand and kissed the fingers. "I'm not a flower, Leon."

"Do I owe you an apology?"

"For what? Multiple orgasms? I swear the nerve of some men! I told you I only wanted one!" But she was grinning and so he relaxed.

"Claire…"

"Leon I know there are things we need to talk about, stuff that needs dealt with. But I don't want to do it right now. Do you?"

He lifted his hand, slid it down her body and watched the light that speared through her eyes again.

"Well I think we could probably find something else to do."

One corner of her mouth lifted as she lowered her head, trapped his lips in a kiss that had him pushing against the softness of her hip.

She whispered, "Oh I think we can manage somehow."

* * *

In the morning, he left at dawn. She lay in the bed, knowing she had weeks of work left here.

She also knew that things with them were changed forever. She wasn't entirely sure, but part of her was curious about what this meant.

She didn't ask. He didn't say. Before he left, he murmured, quietly, "...what's next for you?"

Claire clutched the sheet to her breasts and shrugged, watching the pink spill of dawn cut across his tired face, "The Bay...maybe. Are you free?"

He shook his head, looking so sad it hurt her. "I can't. Not for months. July?"

She nodded, hopefully, "Maybe. Yeah. If I can."

"Right. I should go...I'm on duty." He paused. His hand snaked out and caught the back of her neck. She spilled against him, turning her mouth up to his.

It was a long kiss. It made them both breathless.

He let her go. She breathed, "You're always on duty."

He laughed, mirthlessly, and lamented, "Yeah...the story of my life."


	4. Heroes not Horndogs

**The Girl on the Train**

 **Part Four:**

 **Heroes Not Horndogs**

* * *

 _A fonte puro pura defluit aqua_

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

* * *

 **2008**

* * *

When there wasn't time for life, there was time for friendship.

A phone call. A card. A gift here and there. It was a series of things they'd always done. But the edge of something else lingered.

They never talked about being "together." It wasn't a subject actively broached.

In July, he went to the cabin - and Claire never came. In August, she went - and he wasn't there.

It was their story, in a way, but this chapter was different. It was almost painful. Under the layer of something new, remained something ugly. The blame, the guilt, the truth - it was staring them in the face: they both blamed her for what they'd become.

She'd had a choice that night and she'd chosen to chase her brother. She knew, looking back on it, that she could have stayed with them and searched for Chris by their side. But being young, being a Redfield, being desperate to find her brother...had resulted in abandoning the two people that had come to mean the world to her.

A painful choice.

But it was done. It was over. There was no taking it back.

But it put a pall over their friendship. She knew, sex aside, that he'd always think of her as the girl who'd stolen his future. And she'd always think of him as the one chance for happiness she'd lost in Raccoon City.

* * *

 **New York, 2009**

* * *

They both attended the board for "COOP" - Co-operational Organizational Outlook Panel, which was basically just a bunch of business that were working to stop bio terror getting together to have lunch and bitch at each other. They passed notes like kids during the summit and drew stick figures of the other members on the board farting or fucking or getting shit on.

It was their kind of friendship, after all.

That part remained unflappable.

They had dinner together and went to a Broadway show. Leon did his impersonation on the cab ride home, using that incredible tenor of his, and had her laughing. They shared popcorn and pizza at a late movie.

It was all completely normal.

Apparently, they were going to pretend that they were still just friends.

* * *

 **Yokohama, Japan, 2010**

* * *

Sometimes, when she slept, she pictured the world on fire.

She'd left Moira for dead - they didn't know if she was alive. They didn't know anything. She was a survivor - Claire Redfield survived. She stayed alive at all costs.

She left behind those she couldn't save.

It hurt to know it. It hurt to feel it. The doctors, the nurses, the kindness of the staff had fallen on her and left her numb. Because she'd left Moira behind on that god forsaken island and run.

Run.

RUN.

What had Leon said? _You left us BOTH._

Was she woman who left? Was it safer, somehow, to leave someone behind than to take a chance and lose them? Was that why Neil had betrayed her?

Their brief fling had been a mess. It had been alot of good sex and alot of bad aftermath.

He'd become attached, painfully, and Claire had cut him off at the knees ending it. She felt BAD. She felt really bad. But what choice was there here?

She didn't love him, even though part of her wished she could.

In turn? He'd betrayed her and everyone in their organization. He'd sold them, like cattle to the slaughter, and forced her to face demons long dead in Raccoon City.

She'd killed him...and for the first time she'd understood the thrill of the kill that drove her brother. The bloodlust was real. It came from VENEGANCE - in all capitals, and watching someone who'd betrayed you BURN.

Claire took a bath thinking about Raccoon City. She wondered if anyone would ever really know what it felt like to have grown up in a city that had been decimated first by its benefactor, and next by the nation that had sworn to protect it. Leveled, destroyed, turned into a crater of regret and infection - purged, maybe, but never healed.

The city she'd loved, the people she knew, they were all gone. A hundred years could pass and it wouldn't change that.

She sank under the water and let the heat of it soak into her skin.

It was hard not to think about what they'd all left behind. What was gone forever now. From a safe haven over seas, they'd all sworn to find an end to Umbrella.

The soap felt amazing against her skin. Claire wondered if there'd ever been anything invented that could compare to soap.

She wished she could wash the horror away with the filth. She wished she could wash away the guilt. _Moira...I'll find you. I swear to GOD I will._

She was just slipping on a robe when there was a knock at the door.

Tugging her wet hair free from the collar, she walked to the door and opened it.

He was dressed in a plain white t-shirt, a pair of gray sweat pants. His hair, the color of good whiskey and damp and clean. He hadn't shaved; the stubble only adding to the power of his face.

She leaned on the door jamb, looking at him.

"Can I come in?"

With a nod, she stepped back.

The door clicked closed as she leaned against it.

Alone together.

The t.v. was on. She'd turned the sound off but left it on. Stupidly, it made her feel not so alone.

He turned, faced her.

"They said you'd been released from the hospital. How're doing?"

She combed her fingers through her hair. "Okay actually. Better with a little soap."

Leon smiled. "Yeah. Nothin as good as Dove."

The answer to what could wash away the ugly pain was standing right in front of her. Claire thought she'd never wanted to be touched as badly as she did right that minute. What was about it him? All night, they'd run around town like pals. And yet here they were, with the tension thick enough to choke on.

He said, "I wanted to…see how you were." The phrase caught at the end and had her pulse speeding.

She smiled. "I'm alright...any word on Moira?"

"Nothing. They're still having trouble narrowing down the location." He tossed his head a little, an old gesture. Her hand shifted and touched his forearm. It slid to the elbow and made them both lock eyes.

The tension was new. The tension was painfully good. It made her feel less like a woman who left her friends to die. She couldn't BLINK...if she did, she'd see the blood and hear the screaming. She'd remember the fear and the taste of copper that came with knowing at any moment, she'd become the thing she'd spent so long fighting.

"And what about you?" Her voice wavered sweetly. He ran his hand along the terry cloth sleeve of her robe. "How are you doing?"

Leon shrugged, looked toward the window.

"Okay. Great. Shitty." He smiled, crookedly. It didn't reach his eyes. "All of the above. I should be on furlough soon. I thought maybe you could use a week at The Bay."

"...lord...yes." She laughed, eyes misting, "Yes. A hundred times yes." But that wasn't all she needed.

Claire stepped toward him, hesitated, and took another step.

She felt the muscles in his back clench as she laid her hand against it.

"Leon?" She thought her throat might close up.

"Yeah…" His voice, harsh, gruff.

"Touch me."

He turned, her arm sliding over him, resting on his hip.

He looked down into her face; a drowning man.

"Claire…"

"Don't. It can't be about anything else right now. Just touch me. Because you want to. Because I need you to."

He lifted his hands, slid them over her shoulders, down her arms.

She took his face in her hands. "Don't think. Just touch me."

Leon stared into her face and she saw the moment he gave it all up. Maybe this is what they would be now. Friends, lovers, and neither when the world kept them apart. Maybe this is what it meant to be who they were.

His hands slid down her chest, over the knot in her robe. He watched her eyes while he untied it, parted it, brushed his fingers over the dampness of her belly.

Her eyes fluttered, her breath caught.

He saw what he wanted in her face and slid his hands around her back, over her buttocks and pulled her against him.

She could feel the press of him, hard and hot against her stomach. The sweatpants were soft, the cloth hiding nothing.

He slid himself against her, the friction of the clothes over flesh agonizing, wonderful. With a groan, he closed his eyes, pressed his forehead against hers.

Claire slid her hands into his hair, pushed against him.

They parted slowly, her fingers trailing over him through the soft cotton.

Leon shuddered, pressed his mouth against hers, slowly, softly.

She turned, slid her hands under Leon's shirt, and brushed her fingers over his nipples.

He hissed, tore his gaze from her breasts, and looked into her face.

He needed her. Leon tilted his head down and kissed her.

Their mouths pressed, tongues twining. He bent, slid his arms under her butt and lifted until she was even with him.

There was the sound of heavy breathing.

Claire moved back, her heart racing. She took his hand and led him with her.

For the first time in his life, Leon didn't want to walk away. Whatever this was, it was what he wanted. _She_ was what he wanted. It didn't change the pain of wanting her.

It didn't change the shiver of regret that lingered on the tongue like sickness.

Claire smiled, softly, seductively and Leon knew he was sunk. She turned into him, skimmed her hands under his shirt and he lifted his arms as she slid it off of him.

 _Am I doing this? Do I want to?_ It went wildly through both their heads.

This was different. It wasn't pain. It was pleasure. It was them, together, _together_ without rage to guide them. This? It was love.

He looked into her eyes and knew he'd never wanted anything more.

She pressed her mouth to his chest, slid her tongue over the dip in his collarbone. Leon shivered, slid a hand into her hair as his eyes closed.

He cupped her breasts to watch her body respond. He touched his lips to the tip of her breast and made her pop with goosebumps. What was it on his face? Some kind of wonder that was timeless.

Claire gasped and dragged his left hand down her belly to touch her. He did, softly at first, and then deftly as she grew wetter and her thighs trembled.

He watched her, quiet and curious.

Her hand mirrored him, slipping into his pants to wrap around his co-

The knock on the door startled them both.

They drew apart as the voice called, "Ma'am? Ma'am! We have to go!" Her assistant, Toby, knocking wildly on her door.

He urged, "Ms. Redfield! Your flight is waiting ma'am! We REALLY need to go! They need you in Tokyo YESTERDAY. There's news about Moira Burton, ma'am. HURRY!"

Softly, Claire whispered, "Who's on duty now?"

And he watched her for a long moment before he mused, "...yeah. The story of your life."

* * *

 **Dromania, Croatia 2011**

* * *

He was waiting on the steps of the clinic there. The city bustled around them, people at work, at play, living and loving and lingering. He sat there, in a dirty suede jacket, in jeans with streaks of filth and blood. He had his forehead on his arms, his arms on his knees, his head down. But he was alive.

They said he'd gone radio silent. He'd been called off furlough and sent into the Eastern Slav Republic for a mission. They'd called the abort and he'd…stayed anyway. Damn him, why was he always the hero?

"Leon…"

His head came up. She was pretty in the setting sun, her hair was longer than last he'd seen her. And it was held back in a sleek ponytail at the base of her neck. She wore a blue bomber jacket in rich silk and slim little skinny jeans tucked into knee high black boots. They'd drugged him up to tape his broken ribs and told him to call someone to come get him.

Who else should he call?

She'd been at a TerraSave lecture in Dalmatia. She'd come. Of course, she had.

She hurried up the steps toward him. "What did you do?"

He half smiled, a little woozy from the drugs. "Apparently I'm on suspension."

"What?"

"I disobeyed a direct order. I'm suspended. Isn't the funny?" She helped him up and he put his arm around her shoulders. "I did the right thing. And I got suspended for it. Ain't that some shit?"

Ain't. For that kind of grammar, he had to be a little out of it.

Claire smiled at him, "Yeah it is. But it'll blow over. For now, it's back to vacation for you."

"Right…because vacationing with broken ribs is super fun. Maybe I'll go ride rodeo. Or parasailing…no. Wait. I'll just be sleeping it off with Darvocet."

Claire winced for him, "How many are broken?"

"Three. Fucking tyrants."

And now she shivered, imagining. "And how many of those?"

"Two." He paused, closed one eye, he was slurring a little. The pain meds were working but he felt drunk. "I think."

Charmed, she helped him into the passenger side of her rental car. He tried to get comfortable as she drove through the city. He kept hold of one of her hands while she drove, keeping it on his left thigh. Their tattoos showed, blending.

What a trip that had been. Hanging out on a yearly basis in the Chesapeake came with a lot of drinking. And some poor decisions. The tattoos came on a Tuesday night. Luckily, they'd decided they loved them and kept them.

His other hand was still in his tactical glove. She lifted his hand and kissed it. His eyes drifted open and he rolled his neck to look at her. "Claire…I missed you."

She smiled and angled the car into a street spot outside of his hotel. She turned toward him and kissed his hand again. "You ok, handsome?"

"I've been better," He chuckled and thought about it, "I've been worse too."

"I believe it." She came to help him out of the car and through the lobby to the stairs. No elevators existed in the older hotels through out the city. The stairs nearly killed him getting up them but they made it to the third floor and into his room.

She helped him out of his dirty jacket. He hissed with a series of dirty curses as they got him out of his sweat soaked undershirt. He had bloody scratches across his chest. The tyrant had gotten very close to him, too close. She felt the little undercurrent of fear from it.

Claire ran him a bath with tons of bubbles. A shower was out while his ribs were taped but he needed a good hose down. He was pretty ripe.

She started working on his belt while the water ran.

"Here," He admonished, it slurred a little, "I can get that. Sheesh."

"It's fine. Really." She snaked the leather from the loops and set it aside. She bent to unlace his boots. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"…he had the plagas in him. So I shot him."

She lifted her eyes and she set his second boot aside. He was watching her, very closely. She rose and undid the button on his jeans. "Yeah? Did he die?"

The zipper sounded very, very loud in the room. It shouldn't have sounded so loud. She could taste her heart beat in her mouth. The backs of her fingers brushed his sweaty stomach as she helped him.

He answered, very softly, "No. I severed his spine..I had to. It was the only choice."

Claire's hands slid around his hips and gripped the waistband of his jeans. It put her arms around him, put her body against him. She lifted her eyes and she was very, very aware of how close their faces were. He was sweaty, flaked with dried blood, had dirt and sweat and grime on him. He should have stunk to high heaven.

He didn't. He smelled like he'd survived. He smelled like he'd LIVED.

Claire answered, gently, "I believe you."

Leon held her gaze and his eyes drifted, shifted, and landed on her mouth. They slid back to her eyes. She thought she might pass out from the blood rushing to her head. The damn pain meds were making him…something.

He angled his head just a little. She thought, he's going to kiss me, and she panicked. She pulled his jeans down.

"Let's get you in the tub."

Leon stepped out of the pants, hissing. "Yeah. Right. Wash the day off right?"

She was very careful not to look at his boxer briefs as she rose. She knew they were blue. That was enough. Really.

She helped him to the bathroom and shut the water off. The bubbles looked frothy and the steam in the air was soothing. She heard him hiss, grunt a little, and the drop of his boxer briefs to the floor. He was naked now.

Naked.

Naked.

She stared at the wall behind the tub while he climbed in and sunk below the bubbles. They covered him up to his stomach. She couldn't see anything else.

Thank god.

And yet she felt the fire of regret in there too. Ugh. She heard him splashing in the water and it felt like the top of her head was going to blow off. There was a special place in hell for the person who invented platonic friendship. And a special place in Heaven for those who sat in the place of one while silently yearning.

Leon made a sound of pain and she turned to look at him. Feeling like a bitch for putting her own needs first, she moved over to sit on the closed toilet seat beside him. He was leaning back, his head against the porcelain wall tiles, and his ribs and chest were covered with ugly, flowering bruises. Claire sighed, consigned to her own self torment and started rinsing his hair for him.

They were both quiet as the first few minutes passed. She watched the swirling darkness and pink of blood rinse out of his hair and into the frothy water. He made a sound of distress when she gently helped him wash his chest and his upper body. Hurting for him, she skimmed her fingers through his hair.

"How about a drink? They say no when taking pain pills but I th—"

"No speech necessary. Get the booze."

His deep voice was gravel and steel. Claire smirked a little and grabbed his flask. She held it for him, gently, while he took a long swallow. He gave her a thumbs up and she lowered it, setting it on the floor.

"Better?"

"Infinitely."

She started to rise to give him some privacy and he grabbed her hand. He lowered it to his chest and held it there. Claire was pretty sure she'd drop dead on the spot but she crouched beside the tub anyway. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Why are you so good to me?"

It was a loaded question. A big one. She knew the answer could take them in any of fifteen different directions. She gave him the only answer there was.

"I love you." And that was true. The truest words she'd ever spoken.

He smiled, sweetly. "I love you too, Claire bear. You might be the best part of me."

Her smile was a little sad. "If you really think that, you haven't been paying attention. And you're dumber than you seem."

"Pretty dumb," He chuckled and groaned from it, "Stayed in when they said get out. Pretty dumb."

"Pretty brave."

He pulled her forward and they pressed their foreheads together. She lifted her hand to cup the side of his face and whispered, "Big hero."

Leon laughed and the sound was a little broken. "Big idiot."

"Never that. Never." And she kissed him. It was so soft, smooth, gentle. It lasted only a moment and was over. He smiled after it. She nearly died.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

Claire answered, softly, "You didn't run. You could have…but you stayed."

"Not sure I know how to run."

"We all do…just need the right thing to get us started."

"You think we're all afraid of something?"

She opened her eyes, looking at his beautiful face. His eyes were closed still. That was an easy question for once. She told him, "We're all afraid of something. You'll find yours eventually."

"Thanks for coming, Claire."

"Where else would I be when you need me? Now let's get you out of that bath tub and into bed."

When you put the man you love, naked, damp, and drugged up enough to be adorable, to bed without copping a single feel or making a dirty remark…you should be sainted. She watched him sleep, rubbing her fingers together like she'd touched lava. She wanted to climb into bed with him and hold on. She wanted to smack the shit out of him for being so blind that he couldn't see it.

But instead?

She stood guard over him while he slept.

He watched her sleep when the hangover woke him up after midnight. She was curled in the chair with her stocking covered feet tucked up under her butt. She snored, her mouth open in an O of slumber. He watched her shift a little and the top she wore stretched across her breasts.

She'd shed the jacket. The moonlight made the thin material look silver over her turgid nipples. Was she cold? Maybe was dreaming of him like he'd been dreaming of her.

What would it cost them both if he rolled over and filled his hands with her?

They'd nearly jumped that line again in Japan. He'd crossed it once already. How did this end well? If he kept touching her, they'd end up lovers. They'd end up in bed together constantly. He'd lose his best friend and gain a girlfriend.

And eventually he'd die and leave her to mourn him. He loved her too much to leave her. Maybe she'd left him once, maybe that was true, but they'd turned into something better because of it. They were stronger as friends. They just were.

If he touched her again, they might risk everything and fail.

Could he live with himself without her?

So he didn't touch her. His hand drifted down his belly while he watched her sleep, and he touched himself longing for her.


	5. Reflections of Each Other

**The Girl on the Train**

 **Part Five:**

 **Reflections of Each Other**

* * *

 _A fonte puro pura defluit aqua_

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

* * *

 **Whispering Pines, 2013**

* * *

The next few times they'd meet up - Claire would discover that he was always "dead".

The call came through that he'd died in Tall Oaks. Heroically. Tragically.

Later, she'd remember a handful things she should have done. She'd remember his smile and the way his mouth moved when he sang. She'd remember the smell of his hair and the way the sun turned it red in the right lighting.

She wept in the bathroom for eighteen minutes precisely when they came to tell her he was gone. Eighteen minutes. She wanted to stay there on the floor and dissolve, but it wasn't who she was. She had a brother missing and a life that needed her to keep fighting.

Losing Leon Kennedy couldn't be the end of her world.

Even if losing Leon Kennedy felt like the end of her world.

The call came from an anonymous number. It lasted eleven seconds. Eleven seconds that made her world whole again.

"Claire...I'm alive"

* * *

The office over looking Madison Square garden wasn't his. It was Adam Benford's. It was the president's office.

The moment she emerged into the semi-darkness and noted the glass on the desk, empty beside the bottle that mocked it, she knew who'd killed the President.

The rumors said it was before he'd turned. It cast Leon as the bad guy. The betrayer. The fucking Kingslayer. The backstabber.

But it wasn't true.

It couldn't be true.

Adam had been a surrogate father to him. He'd been at his side for so long that she didn't know how Leon was standing, let alone still alive. He'd ended the man who'd raised him to save the world. It was that simple.

He'd saved the DSO in the process. This baby of his that he'd made with the most powerful man in the Western World. His lovechild born out of a desire to stop terror upon the people he'd spent his life protecting.

At what point was the price he'd pay enough?

The white t-shirt and jeans were simple, unadorned, and so utterly far from the fashionable bad ass that flaunted his skills in the face of the world. Here, in this moment, he was just a boy who'd stayed behind in a burning city to save her. He was just a guy trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered world.

She whispered, brokenly, "...Leon..."

And he turned from the window where the moon reflected on his ravaged face. It gilded the tears there silver. It broke her heart to see it.

She moved, shaking her head; she almost ran.

"... _Leon..._ "

He shrugged, laughing wetly, "Some hero huh?" Forlornly, he begged, "What's the point, Claire? What difference does any of it make?"

"It matters. Leon...it matters. You're _alive."_

And he laughed again, harshly, "I feel dead."

"You're not. Let me show you." She grabbed his wrists and tugged.

The move tugged him in. It brought him close. He shifted his hands to her hair to tilt her face back. It was a wet moment. They rubbed faces like cats in the dark. It left her breathless and smeared her face with his tears.

Her hands wedged under the shirt to tug it up so she could touch him. He let her and the sound of their panting filled the cold air. Her fingers roved over bruises and bandages and bare skin. It gripped a handful of scarred muscle on his back to bring him closer.

And it settled over the steady beat of his heart. It curled there against the damage left by lickers and hunters and spies with nefarious agendas and heroic acts that would probably stop it all together one day. It pressed and Claire tried, desperately, to fill him with her strength to keep going.

She didn't think she'd survive it if she lost him again.

She whispered, clinging, "It's not easy to be the hero, Leon Kennedy. Sometimes...it's ok to be the coward."

He shook his head, gripping her face in his hands. "I can't live with myself if I run away, Claire. It's not how I'm built."

She pressed a wet kiss to his mouth and tried to inhale all his pain into her body and heal him. "...I know that. I know it...sometimes I wish you anything but a hero."

And they held for as long as the world let them.

* * *

 **Sydney, Australia 2014**

* * *

She awoke to find him at her bed side. The look on his face told the story of how bad she was. She was brutalized. She knew that.

She was almost dead when the chopper had brought her here. Julie had failed to kill her, but the damage was done. She'd heard them talking about her spleen and her face.

She'd needed her face rebuilt on one side. She could only imagine what she looked like.

Hoarsely, she whispered, "Bad huh?"

And he kissed her forehead, shaking his head, "You look like a million bucks, Redfield."

They gripped hands.

He stayed at her side for three months during her recovery. It was the longest he'd spent with her in years. When they could, he moved her to the ranch he owned in Montana for rehabilitation.

It was a good few months. She healed and he cooked. He made her laugh. He seemed so calm, so easy.

For a moment, it was almost like being best friends without the world against them. Almost.

She wasn't sure at what point she admitted she was in love with him. Maybe she'd always been. Maybe she'd always be.

But loving him came with losing him.

And she wasn't willing to lose him to have him. She just wasn't. So it was best friends forever and tiny pangs of want that nearly choked them both.

But he never let go. He didn't know how.

They kept each other alive through sheer force of will.

* * *

 **Washington D.C. 2016**

* * *

The Operation had been perfectly timed. It had planned and executed flawlessly. It had zero margin for error as the men involved in the procurement of the target in question were some of the most brilliant in the country. It was the perfect plan.

For just as long as it took for the operation to go into effect, it took half as long for the trap to be sprung. He'd never forget it, the moment he knew they'd been betrayed. He turned back, too slow, too fucking slow.

The first bullet struck like a snake. It went through the throat of man just behind him. Watts. Jim Watts. They'd spent the evening before playing BlackJack and drinking scotch. The tactical gear was useless when the other side knew who they were up against.

Jim Watts had a wife and three little girls.

The blood bloomed in a wet, hot, coppery flower from his throat. He clutched, he stumbled, and he died there on the pavement. Leon barely had time to breathe before the storm came, "No."

The bullets were like a barrage of fire and brimstone. The frontal assault took out twenty men before it relented. Leon was trapped on his belly beneath an SUV, watching…watching…watching them fall all around him. The rage and loss chewed up his guts and hollowed him out, it ripped a sound from his throat that was desperate and manic.

When the gun fire stopped, the second wave began.

They poured from the walls, from the sky. They came like demons from the gaping mouth of hell. Lickers and hunters exploded from doorways, dropped down from roofs, came from alleyways and buildings where they'd cleared. THEY'D CLEARED only hours before.

The plan had been perfect.

A perfect storm.

Leon rolled from beneath the SUV. He wouldn't die like this, a coward, a coward who hid while the world burned. Car alarms were blaring and fire had begun to lick the sky around them. The end. The end of the fucking world.

"THE BRAINS!" He yelled it loud over the cacophonous din of rapid gunfire and shouting. "AIM FOR THE BRAINS!"

He put a .50 calibur round into the brain of the licker that charged him first. The one behind it threw that tongue at him fast and desperate. He feinted left and it hit like a whip against the place his face had been a moment before. The knife in his had gotten there without any thought behind it. He used it to take a hard swipe at that fucking tongue.

It leapt, up, up and landed atop the car beside him. He spun himself out to avoid the swiping claws and back into a perfect flip. He landed, skidded over the blood slick ground and was face to face with a hunter. Time went slow, stopped.

It's smashed one giant clawed hand into him. The combat gear saved him from being split in half. It tossed him away like a swatted fly. He hit the side of a car and fell to one knee on the street, his pain echoed in the screaming wail of the car alarm he'd set off.

The hunter sprung, shrieking madly. Leon rolled to the side and it drove those razor sharp talons right into the door of the car beside him. He scrambled and spun a back kick into it before he put three rounds from his Magnum into its shrieking face.

There were too many. Too many and too few of the good guys left. He turned, yelled the order for the retreat. He yelled it ABORT ABORT ABORT. But he couldn't see a single man still standing. He started running.

The bomb went off as he ran. The bomb. It exploded the world into raining fire and steel, light and death, the world was on fire.

There was an alley to the left that he ducked left into without thinking. Someone else had the same thought as she was racing the same direction. He caught up to her and had never been so happy to see her face.

"Helena!"

Helena Harper, the other agent who'd been assigned to the mission. They were old friends and had survived together before this. Helena was still alive.

"Leon!"

They hit the far street and kept running toward the extraction point. The noise of the things persuing them was getting louder. There was no way they were going to out run them. There were too many the terrain was too wide.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her with him. He kicked open the door of the closest building and all but tossed her inside. He slammed the door behind them.

"Hurry! Find something to brace the door!"

Helena shoved the closest shelf until it collapsed over in front of the door. A quick inspection of the area told them they'd shoved their way into the library. She spun, spun, and pointed.

"We can get to the roof. We might be able to radio for evac from there."

Leon was already on it, communicating their coordinates. Hunnigan was on the line, horrified. "What happened?!"

"Somebody knew!" He all but shouted it as the rage ate him up inside, "Somebody pulled a fucking Benedict Arnold. Some fucking Judas told!"

"Leon…the losses. They are complete. There is no one left out there. We've tried to raise everyone with no answer."

"Oh my god…"He leaned on the wall, covered his face with his hands, "Oh my god…"

Helena grabbed his forearm, squeezed. "We have to do this. We can't fall apart."

Hunnigan's voice came soft and consoling, "I'm sorry, Leon. I am. But there's no time to break down. Get to the roof. I'll have a chopper there in fifteen minutes."

The door was being beat against, the shrieking and screaming was on top of them. He opened his eyes and met Hunnigan's face on the communicator. "You better be faster than fifteen. I don't think we've got that long."

He and Helena ran toward the far side of the library. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and raced toward the fire exit. Helena grabbed the handle and nodded to him.

He nodded back and braced to cover as she pushed the door wide.

The fire escape was old and metal but sturdy. They rushed out, scanning the area before they began to climb up the narrow escape. He heard the door of the library burst open just as they slammed the escape door behind them.

"GO!"

They were almost to the top when a hunter burst out of the escape door, screaming that warbling cry. He angled himself down, tried to find the shot and couldn't against the metal and the narrow wall. Furious, he turned and chased Helena across the rooftop.

"Jump across!"

"What?!"

"Helena! JUMP ACROSS!"

She reached the end of the roof and leapt. She didn't hesitate. She just did it. He was right behind her, airborne. It seemed he was sustained in flight forever before he came down into a roll to absorb the impact.

The Hunter followed them. He rolled to his back and was pulling the trigger as it came down. It shrieked and screamed until its face was blown away in a blast of blood, bone, and thicker things. It fell twitching to the roof beside him.

They were already running for the next roof.

He leapt first, spinning back to make sure she made it. She hit the side of the roof and dropped, grabbing desperately with her hands. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her up.

The whirring blades of the helicopter drew closer. They made a stand, turning to shoot at the crowd that started racing and screaming toward them. Ten lickers and maybe more hunters. This was it. This was the only chance they had.

"I'm out!" She holstered her pistol and pulled her knife. Leon picked off two more and clicked empty. He grabbed a spare clip and shoved it home.

"No!" He grabbed her arm. "We can't stay here. MOVE!"

They ran again for the next roof. Farther this time and a dangerous game to play to try to reach it. He poured on the speed, put his head down and leapt, springing with every ounce of power in his legs.

He hit the roof in a roll, sliding out of it to turn around. Helena leapt, airborne. She hit the edge of the roof and he grabbed her wrists again to pull her up.

"Leon!"

Everything slowed down. The Hunter was right above them. He was in the middle of pulling her up. He watched it fall, felt it land. It smashed down on him and his hands let go of her.

"HELENA!"

She was screaming. He rolled to his back and the hunter drove those claws down, down. They went into his chest and burst out the other side, pinning him to the roof. He could still hear Helena screaming.

The hunter lifted him off the roof, spitted on its claws like a shish kabob. He gasped, the blood spilling out of his mouth as he coughed. It roared and Helena had stopped screaming.

It shook him, shook him, shook him like a wet dog on its claws. He came loose, suspended in the air for what seemed like forever and fell. He fell tumbling down the side of the building and hit the fire escape beneath. The loud clang of metal was measured against the roaring of the Hunter, the blazing fire in the street below, the hard thunder of his own heartbeat.

"Leon…"

His eyes rolled. Helena was lying on the fire escape a few feet from him. Her left leg was twisted, twisted and broken up behind her. Leon put a hand out to her.

He coughed, watching his blood spill too fast and too thick onto the street below.

Helena put her hand out to echo his; the lickers tongue wrapped around her wrist, once, twice.

"No…"His voice was little more than an anguished whisper.

She was jerked, screaming, up toward the roof. He tried to rise and collapsed back into his own blood. He felt the darkness grab his throat and claim him. She was still screaming as it defeated him.

* * *

They told her he was dead.

She received, for what would not be the first time in her life, the phone call in the middle of a sunny afternoon. She was in Boston at a Terrasave convention. She opened her phone during a break in lectures and had a missed call.

Barry Burton filled her voicemail with the message: The mission he'd been on had ended with no survivors. No survivors. No survivors.

She dropped the phone. It slid from her hand and bounced across the floor. Beside her, Moira Burton grabbed her arm. Her pretty face was set in lines of concern. "Claire?"

"I need to get to Washington D.C. I need to get there now."

"Then let's get there."

They'd gotten to D.C. on a chopper owned the B.S.A.A. Her brother came through when she needed him. She ran across the tarmac to find Barry waiting for them. His red hair was bright in the midafternoon sun.

His expression was dark. He grabbed her hands and held them. "They found survivors after all."

Her voice came out, low and afraid, "Leon?"

He nodded and she started to pull away, feeling the relief burn like acid in her belly. His face shut down that relief, quick and fast. "It's not good Claire. He and one more Agent are alive. He's pretty badly wounded. The other agent is barely holding on."

"Take me to him."

He was lying in a hospital bed. He was bounded from wrist to hips in a bandage. His wrist was clearly broken, his left one. His face was covered in slashes and cuts. But he was alive. He was alive.

HE WAS ALIVE.

Claire felt him looking at her.

"That bad huh?"

His voice was gravelly and pained. She felt the smile bloom on her face. "You've looked worse."

He coughed out a laugh and then winced. "We gotta stop meeting like this."

"Seriously. I have enough trouble driving around picking up pieces of my brother. You guys think I have time for all of this shit?"

She sat down beside his hip on the bed and took his hand. He gripped it, hard, palm down. "They…they ripped her screaming up to the roof. I tried….I couldn't. And everyone…they say every one of them is gone."

Claire kept holding on. "She's alive. She's unconscious and she's got a shattered pelvis and two broken legs. Her right arm was nearly pulled out of the socket. But when it grabbed her, it tossed her. And it left her for dead. She's made of stronger stuff then that it seems. She survived until the evac team got you both."

"Jesus Christ.." He made some sound of grief. She felt the tears prick her eyes for him. "Jesus Christ…somebody ratted. Somebody turned traitor. Do they know who?"

"They're still looking into it."

"When they find out, I'm going to put a bullet in them and watch them bleed out slowly."

She scooped his hair back from his face. "That doesn't sound like you."

"Yeah…things change."

"That doesn't change. Big hero."

"Big failure."

"Never that. Never."

She leaned over and kissed him. He opened his eyes to watch her. His hand came up and wrapped at the back of her neck. He held their faces together. He kissed her back, sort of hard and desperate.

Claire made a sound of longing that he probably mistook for pity and ground her face against his neck and shoulder. "Stop trying to die on me."

He laughed a little and there was a broken edge to it that scared her. "No promises. Why are you so good to me?"

"I love you," She said it so vehemently, so fully, she thought he'd finally get it. He'd finally understand.

He didn't. He said, "I love you too, Claire bear. What would I do without you?"

She breathed him in, the smell of him, the edge of pain and torture and enduring love that made the core of him. She breathed him in and died a little. She kissed the edge of his jaw, his ear, his closed eye. "I wish I knew. I really do."

He held her hand to his chest and smiled a little. She didn't let go until he was asleep.

And even then, she never stopped keeping watch.


	6. A Place for Us

**The Girl on the Train**

 **Part Six:**

 **A Place for Us**

* * *

 _A fonte puro pura defluit aqua_

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

* * *

 **Silver Lake, Montana 2017**

* * *

She was waiting on his porch when the sedan rolled to the curb and he climbed out of it. His arm was in a sling, his face was bruised. His black motorcycle jacket was filthy. He had blood splattered all over him.

He'd saved the girl, they said. And he'd saved her brother.

He was always saving people.

His progression to the darkness had been ugly and fast. She'd found him drunk in more bars then she could count. She'd poured him in bed, dealt with his self hatred, his belligerent attitude, his steady spiral into depression. She'd found him on the floor once in his kitchen in a pool of blood. He'd cut himself on a highball glass when he'd drank so much he'd literally fell down and smashed his own glass beneath him.

She'd helped him up, bound his wounds, and gotten him into bed once more. He'd told her to leave him the fuck alone. That she was "wasting herself" on him. She'd slapped his hung over face, called him a bastard, and pushed him into the shower to wash away the stench of scotch.

After the fake Ada Wong had gotten all his men killed, her brother had fallen into a hole as deep and dark as it was wide. She'd helped him climb out. He'd done that first after Kijuju with the PTSD he'd suffered badly. What was it with these men and their inability to come back from their own darkness?

She muttered, "Men." And pushed up her sleeves to drag Leon Kennedy back from his own self destruction as well.

He moved across the soft grass toward her and she came down the steps to meet him.

The dark sedan pulled away, leaving them in the quiet.

"Thank you. I know it was hard for you to do what you did."

He looked down at her, watching her face. He shrugged his own good shoulder. "It's what I do right? Big hero." And it sounded so angry, so bitter.

His hair was ink dark now, a reflection of what he felt inside. D.C. had cost him something ugly. He'd gone down into the morgue and put bullets in all the men he'd lost. Helena Harper had lived but she was unlikely to ever walk again.

And Leon had survived, again.

That survivors guilt plagued him like poison.

Claire grabbed his jacket and jerked on him a little. He grunted with the pain of his set shoulder. "Easy, Claire. Damn."

"Big idiot. Stop trying to get yourself killed."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I saved your brother. I saved the day! That's what I DO!"

"They said you came out of the fucking elevator on a motorcycle like some kind of lone ranger. You and that damn gun! You think you're John Wick?!"

"I kinda was, yeah. I did do some pretty stellar gun fu."

"This gun…it's the only thing you love!"

She took his Desert Eagle and ripped it from his thigh holster. She tossed it away to skid across the grass.

"Hey! Don't blame the gun! It saved your BROTHER! Or did you forget!?"

"I didn't forget! Did you? You promised no more trying to die on me!"

"I did NOT promise that!" He was relatively sure of that. "I promised to try. They came sniffing me out! What was I going to do? Not help?! Chris would be DEAD now!"

"My brother has a way of surviving. Sorta like you. You joined him on a personal vendetta against that idiot Arias. He and Cathy…they were…"

Leon blinked at her, "Oh…oh. I get it now."

"Yeah, you big idiot. I get why he did it. What about you? What was your reason?"

"Your brother can't do dick without my helping him. That's why. They asked. I had nothing better to do as it was all reruns on my favorite shows. _The Walking Dead_ is on hiatus…I figured…what the fuck? Why not!?"

"You joke?" She pushed him, he made a sound of pain.

"Don't push me, Claire! I mean it!"

"Or what!? You fool. You thought you'd die out there didn't you? You ran up on that roof trying to die!"

He said nothing. She waited. He said nothing. He literally said nothing. And she knew it was true. He was trying to commit suicide by bravery. Maybe if he died, he could what? Make up for those that had gone before him? It was just the sort of stupid logic the men in her life used when they wanted to do something selfless and stupid. STUPID.

"….fool."

"You already said that."

"What happens to me if you die!?"

He shrugged a little. "You find some other charity case to waste your time nursing back to health. You'll get over it."

She slapped him, hard.

It rang like a shot between them.

"You selfish little asshole. You bastard. All the bars, all the floors, all the places in the worlds I've cleaned you up from lately. All the messes I've cleaned up for you. And this is what I get? This?!"

Leon shrugged and there was the hard edge of pain on his face that made a liar out of him. "Your choice. Nobody asked you to."

Claire stared at him, he stared back. She shook her head, slowly. "You're going to burn every bridge you've ever had. You're going to alienate anyone who cares about you. You're going to pull your self hatred, all your rage, all that grief around you and me and everyone until we all choke. Is that what you want?"

"Better then feeling like this. Why not? The bottle doesn't nag me to death about anything. It just makes me numb."

"And what about me? What do I do with that?"

"Do whatever the fuck you want, I'm going to bed." He passed by her.

She stood there, stricken, in the sunlight. She turned and followed him back into the house. He was pouring three fingers of scotch into a highball glass. It was 8 a.m.

She slapped the glass out of his hand. It hit the floor and shattered with a tinkle of breaking glass. He lifted a brow at her.

"That was a waste."

"You're a waste." She took the scotch and uncapped it, turning it over the sink.

"What the fuck, Claire! That's a six hundred dollar bottle of scotch!"

"Sue me," He grabbed it from her and they wrestled. She pushed him….in his bad arm. He recoiled, hissing. He called her several dirty names.

"Oh please. I grew up with a brother in the military, honey. Sticks and stones."

"Go away, Claire. I don't want you here."

"Did I ask?"

She moved toward him. Her hands found the zipper of his jacket. She jerked it down. The shirt inside was navy, v-neck, and pettably soft. She lifted her hands to ease the sling off his bad arm.

He hissed, "For fuck's sake I don't need a nursemaid."

"Shut up, you idiot." She eased the jacket off his arms. The navy t-shirt clung in all the right places. A drunken fucking nightmare or not, he hadn't been neglecting his body. He was even bigger than the last time she'd seen him. He'd been channel his rage, it seemed, into lifting weights.

The lithe physique was showing signs of being heavy with muscle in the chest and shoulders. "You trying to get ready to fight my brother?"

"You see your brother lately? Dude's been slacking on the weight lifting. Before he headed down to Lousiana, he didn't even look like himself anymore."(...*cough)

"Wesker is dead. He can afford the break. What's your excuse?"

"Picking up heavy shit beats the hell out of sleeping."

"How so?"

"There are no nightmares when I'm awake."

Claire blinked at him, hurt for him, and wanted to comfort him. He was so lost. He was so sad. He was so broken. How did she fix him? Could she?

"Tell me the truth. Why did you go? You could have given them the answers and stayed home. But you went. Why?"

He watched her face and shrugged. It brought a gasp of pain from his mouth. "Rebecca has a way of making you feel about five years old and about three feet tall. It was guilt at first. And finally, it was clarity. Nothing makes me feel clearer than the fight, Claire. That part is still true."

"I get that. I do. But you are one fucking guy. ONE. What did you think you'd do on the rooftop? Ride your motorcycle at that monster and square dance?"

He felt his mouth twitch into a smile. "There's an image."

"Stop laughing, damnit."

He snorted. "I didn't think that far ahead. I just did it. And it's good I did. That thing had your brother like it was going to open him up and see what he was made of. I stopped it. He got the cure. And it's all ok now."

"The two of you…neither of you ever think beyond yourself. Did you think, either of you, what I'd do if I lost you both!? Both of you?! How would I come back from that?"

He hadn't. Neither of them had. It was the first time he realized that it wasn't just Rebecca that had a way of making him feel about three feet tall.

"No. No we didn't."

"I won't bury you, you asshole. But if you keep trying to die on me, I _will_ kick your ass." She glared him to death for emphasis.

"Claire…this is all I know how to do. I can't stop being me."

"No," She rubbed her hands across his chest, petting him, "But you can stop being stupid."

"I can try. No promises. Why are you so good to me?"

She lifted her head, met his eyes, and held them. "I love you. How do you not know that?"

"I know it." He was very quiet now. And very aware of something different here. It was sharp, like an ice pick. "I love you too, Claire be—"

"Don't. Please. I can't hear it today. I can't hear it. You big idiot." She turned away from him and went to the sink to rinse down the scotch and pour him a glass of water.

"It shouldn't make you sad to hear it, Claire."

Claire turned back and met his eyes, "Doesn't it make you sad to hear it? You reject any one who even tries to get close to you. Why?"

He turned away and she noted that his jeans did wonderful things for his ass. The cowboy boots worn under the jeans added just the right edge to an already ridiculously wonderful picture. She followed him into the bedroom.

He was turning the lid on his flask to take a drink.

Claire stomped toward him and ripped it from his hands.

He looked at her from beneath his hair. The look on his face should have killed her where she stood. "You're trying my patience."

"Good! I don't have any left for you anyway." She took a swig from the flask and shuddered. Nasty stuff. But it spread warmth in her belly when it got there. That was the power of booze. Liquid courage.

"Go home, Claire. The day is saved. Everyone is fine. Just let me have my peace."

He sat down on the edge of his bed and speared his hand through his hair. The shift made his sore shoulder hurt. "Give me my flask."

"No."

"God damnit, Claire!" He shouted it now, rising to his feet. He actually took a step toward her. She tilted her head, watching him, "I swear to god…"

"What? Going to hurt me? Really!? For this!?" She held up the flask. "Come on. Come get it. I dare you."

He took another few steps toward her like he'd do it, like he'd take it. She palmed it and drove it hard into his stomach. He grunted, glanced up at her in surprise as he bent double, and she turned and left the room. She walked out onto the porch and kept going.

"Claire! Give it back!"

She ran to the edge of the tree line and chucked it, as hard as she could.

"What the FUCK!" He grabbed her and spun her to face him, "What part of LEAVE ME ALONE do you not understand?! Go away! Stay the fuck out of my business!"

"You ARE my business!"

"Why?! I'm not your brother, not your father, not your fucking boyfriend! I'm just some guy you hang around with sometimes, Claire. Do us both a favor and get out of here before I say something we'll both regret."

"….just some guy I hang around with? Really?"

He watched her, eyes narrowed in anger. She pushed on his chest and he stumbled back, hissing in pain. "BIG IDIOT! You think you can hurt me and I'll run away? Is that it? You stupid, stupid…stupid ** _man_**."

Frustrated, he through his hands up and caused himself immense pain from it. He hissed, groaned, and cursed again. "Fine! Do whatever you want! I'm done here."

She found him half dressed and getting into his bed. He'd changed into a pair of sleeping pants in black and was turning down the covers. He kept wincing from the pain of it.

He saw her lingering in the doorway and sighed. "I'm too tired to fight any more. Ok? Just…not anymore."

She walked toward him and took his hand. Their tattoos pressed together: Keep Fighting. A drunken adventure that ended in a mantra they'd been sharing all their lives.

He shook his head, slowly. "That wasn't the purpose."

"No. But it gets the point across."

"Fine but not any more now. I can't. I need to sleep. Please."

She tugged him toward her. Her arms wounded around him and held on. He hesitated and then hugged her, tight and hard.

"You can't hurt me and make me go away, Leon. You know that."

He closed his eyes and laid his cheek on her head. "I don't deserve you."

And she knew…she knew he meant that. He meant it. He didn't think he deserved any one. He was so utterly, totally, and completely flawed. It was so sad to see such a strong man reduced to such emptiness and grief. He was rotting from the inside. How could she help him?

She lifted her head and looked at him. She lifted her hand and caught his chin, turning his face down to her. "I know you're lost. I feel it. I wish I knew how to help you, how to fix you. I wish I knew. Because you saved me that night in that tent in Harvardville. I was so lost. The guilt nearly killed me….but I looked at you. And you…gave me hope. You gave me strength. You gave me reason when the madness was murdering me. I want to do that for you."

He shook his head, gently, "I don't know if you can."

"Let me try," She rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his, "Let me try."

" _Claire_ …" Desperate and lost. Like she was, for him.

"Shhh. Let me try." She kissed him again. He was so very still against her. She wanted so very deeply, so very desperately, to show him. How could he ever understand if she didn't show him what he was? How would she function without him?

She said, softly, "I love you…don't say it back. Don't. I can't hear it right now. I _love_ you. And not in a best friend way. I love you. And it's not friendly. And it is friendly. And it's mixed up in something. And it's mixed up in everything. You can't spiral away and die…you can't…I can't lose you…"

"Claire…" He tried again.

She shook her head. "No. I just need to get it out there. I have to. I just need to do it now. I can…I can step aside for another woman. I can't step aside for that. I can. I can't just stand here and watch you self destruct. I should have…I should have yes…in Harvardville? I should have said yes in that tent."

Surprised, flabbergasted, he said her name once more.

"Don't…because…because I think you're going to say something sweet and mushy and friendly and try to deflect me and I can't do that right now. And I just…I keep you with me in my heart…and you make it easier when life gets hard…" She laughed a little, "See? I'm a fucking Jason Mraz song. Lord."

Claire turned away to pace across the room, "But you just…you don't get it! You don't get it. You whisper and flirt. And I pick you up from the floor of some bar. And I die. I DIE! Because you don't get it! What you do, it hurts people who love you! It hurts. You can't keep hurting people who love you!"

Claire huffed out in frustration and ran her hands through her hair. "Eventually the people you hurt, they stop trying to fix you. But I can't do that. I love you. I LOVE YOU!"

She shouted it loud enough he jumped.

"And I don't even like fish tacos!"

His mouth smirked a little.

"DON'T YOU DARE LAUGH! You with your sexy little cooking and dancing and flirting. Harmless, Claire. It's harmless flirting. It's all harmless. But the touching isn't harmless, Leon. And we both knew it. Why didn't you follow me after Raccoon City?"

Surprised, he whispered, "What?"

"You could have followed...with Sherry. You could have come with me. But you stayed. And they got you. That's not my fault, Leon! IT'S YOURS!"

He jumped again when she shouted it at him, hurling it like a bullet. And he answered, "...that's not who I am, Claire. I don't run. You know that."

Claire huffed, pointing at him, "Because following a ladies lead just isn't your style." She did air quotes and the voice she used was mocking and very high pitched.

"Pretty sure I don't sound like that. You're just being mean."

"You DO sound like that! And you sing your little evil songs. You…just…"

"…evil is a bit harsh."

"Shut up! You stupid man. You blithering idiot."

"…I'm actually pretty articulate."

"You? Really? They call you the Executioner. They should call you the executioner of good dialogue! A pun is not a good joke!"

"Hey! PUNS ARE THE HIGHEST FORM OF HUMOR!"

"No! Idiot! They are the LOWEST!"

He was pretty sure that wasn't true. Was it? He was too enraptured with her tirade. "What are you saying here, Claire?"

"I love you! Moron!"

"I love you too! Bitch!"

Frustrated, she threw up her hands. "That's not what I mean. Damnit. You are…" She moved toward him. He watched her and wasn't sure he liked where she was going with this.

She shoved him, hard. His bad shoulder screamed in pain even as he spilled backward onto his bed. She climbed on top of him, straddling him.

"Wai—"

She didn't wait. She kissed him. And it wasn't gentle and it wasn't sweet and it wasn't nice. It was hungry. She kissed him like she'd die if she couldn't.

He tasted like survival and scotch and cigarettes. It should have been awful. But it was just short of intoxicating. He was so very still beneath her. She felt the first stab of fear in her belly.

She leaned up to look at him.

The look on his face was tortured...pained. She looked down at him and died a little inside. She slid off him.

"Claire..wait.."

"No…it's…no…it's fine."

"Claire…I need to tell you…it's more complicated than you think."

"You don't want me anymore…" Lord. The hurt was so broad, so fast and deep, that it stole her breath a little. He didn't want her. She'd waited…she'd waited too long and it was too late and it was done. Their timing had always been wrong and awkward and broken by other things. She wasn't a fool, she knew there was another woman mixed up in there somewhere, she could feel it when he was with her.

"Claire, don't leave like this. Please."

She spun back to face him. "What can you say, Leon? What is there left to say? Every man in my life that I've ever cared about, with the exception of my brother, has rejected, left, or betrayed me! Did you ever think about that? I have TERRIBLE TASTE IN MEN! Steve! Did I ever tell you about Steve?"

Angrily, she set about washing dishes in his kitchen. She had to do something with her hands or she'd start hitting him. "Steve was this boy on Rockfort Island. This male prisoner. Steve saved my life. He was a little…arrogant and sorta young and flirty. He was….he would have probably been something if he'd survived. But he died. He died a mutated monster and laid there in his own blood confessing his love for me!"

She shoved plates in his dishwasher.

"Claire…" His voice was soft, sympathetic, "Stop that. And come here. Let me explain."

"Wait! I'm not done." She started on the glasses, "So Steve dies in his own blood. And it nearly killed me. Why? I was kinda in love with him. Why not? He was kind and funny and stupid and cute. And he was devoted to me. He stared at my ass a lot which was flattering and probably sexist. But it was ok. But he was in love with me."

She glanced at Leon where he stood now, watching her. And what was that look on his face?

She hooted a little, "Oh! That bothers you? Good. Good. I'm not done yet."

Claire crammed silverware into the slots on the dishwasher. "So Steve dies. That's hard to get over. It's rough. I went to sit with Sherry while they poked and prodded at her. They told me you took the job offer they tossed at you to protect her from worse. Big hero."

She closed the dishwasher and set it to working. She turned to face him, lifting a cup of coffee to take a drink. "So I'm working with Terrasave now. Things are going pretty good. I had a boyfriend in the mean time, Kurt. Nice guy. Friendly. That might have been something but he was married. Yeah. Married. And so that fell apart."

She sat down at the table. Leon sat across from her now, watching her, just watching. She could see something on his face. She wasn't sure what it was. Regret? Anger? Who knew with him?

"Let's fast forward to Harvardville. I get there and meet Frederic. He's…charming. He's handsome and funny and sort of ironic in that British way that makes you think. And he's working for the company making the T-virus vaccine. He's also EVIL. EVIL EVIL EVIL. My best friend in the world and I, we make out right? We just make out like we want to jump each other's bones and get it on. It's awesome. I'm confused. My best friend doesn't just back off…nope. HE RUNS. Like the hounds of hell are chasing at his heels. So I think…best to leave that alone. I go back with Frederic to his office to get a nightcap."

She laughed a little watching his face. "By nightcap I mean sex. I wanted to have sex with him. Why not? I didn't know he was evil. He took my mind off you anyway. Which was something I needed. And, for the record, I did like him. Quite a lot."

There was no mistaking it now. That was jealousy on his face. And she liked.

"Naturally," He answered, sipping the coffee she'd poured him, "Because fucking in the middle of that mess makes perfect sense."

"Oh fuck you, Mr. Kennedy. You don't get to go judging me. You were "diving" while I was trying to survive. So don't pretend for a minute you're above it."

"God damnit, Claire. That's not a euphemism. It happened like that. Nothing else happened."

"Whatever. We're digressing," She sipped her coffee again and struck up one of his smokes, "So Frederic and I flirt. While I'm looking the other way, he goes nuts and tries to blow up the world. Just my luck, one more nut case in my life to deal with. But Leon Kennedy saves the day and everyone goes home happy. You and I come out of that better friends than ever."

She knocked the ashes from the cigarette into an ashtray on the table. "Leon Kennedy and I start taking yearly trips to the Chesapeake Bay. We laugh, we drink, we cook, we swim. He gets half naked and dances and rubs my face in the fact that I didn't make a move in Harvardville. We meet up again and fuck like starving things...after which he runs away. He makes it clear we're just friends. "

"…that is certainly revisionist history. Who did the running that night?" Now he sounded snide, which really pissed her off.

"Whatever. So I start dating my boss at work. Neil. Neil is charming. Neil is good in bed. He is smart and funny and witty and seems to really care about me. Neil takes me to Paris and asks me to marry him."

Leon jerked, like she'd slapped him. It hurt them both for her to say it. That surprised her. Why? Because she loved him. She always had.

"Oh yeah. He did. I didn't say yes. Not right away. I was still hoping you would come around. I didn't know if I loved Neil. But I figured I could eventually. But then HQ gets attacked and Moira and I end up in that hell hole…"

He moved to take her hand and she slid it away, sipping her coffee. The rejection hurt him almost as much as it hurt her. But she couldn't, not anymore. She had to put it all out there.

"So I see some…awful shit. I see how awful the Wesker project is. I see how awful it all is. I find out Neil is a double agent working for the formerly disgraced FBC director Lansdale. I find out he was using me for intel. So I was a fuck toy. I was his fuck toy. I kill Neil. And he dies begging for forgiveness." She ground the cigarette out, "He gets none. And will never get any. I keep making trips to the damn Chesapeake Bay to torture myself. Why not? Who gives a shit at this point?"

She rose and turned away to stare out over his deck. "I have a few lovers between then and now. But most of mistakes and have issues. There's the former director of Terrasave who was married, yeah I like married apparently, and Chris' buddy at the BSAA who thought he'd try to own me. That ended badly and Chris lost a good friend over it. There was a few nights with Jill's old buddy Carlos."

Again, Leon made a movement.

"Oh…you don't like him either huh? Well sorry. He's good in bed. So it was worth it." She turned back to him. "And here we are. My sordid past mistakes on full display. Why are we here? I have chased and cleaned up and fixed you over and over. Why are we here? Why didn't you ever chase me? I would have let you catch me."

He rose, slowly, he winced as his arm protested. "I don't deserve you."

"Leon…I swear to god..don't start this shit."

"Claire…" He tried to take her hand, she slapped him away. He clenched his hand into a fist, "In Raccoon City….I met-"

"You have GOT to be kidding me….her!? This…this is all about Ada Wong?" The pain of that chewed up her throat and nearly stole her breath. "All these years…you've been chasing Ada Wong?"

He stared at her, at a loss for words.

"….you big idiot."

"Not just Ada...it's more complicated than that."

"No…" Her voice broke, hurting them both. He looked like she'd punched him in the face. "Don't. You son of a bitch."

"Claire…" He sounded so shocked, so hurt. She shook her head.

"You stupid blind bastard. You dumb…man. Chasing some piece of ass that will never want you back. And too stupid to see what is RIGHT HERE. When I was picking you up off the floor of whatever bar you had drunk yourself blind in, where was Ada Wong?! When I was picking you up off the ground, bloody and broken, WHERE WAS ADA WONG!?"

He grabbed her hand now and wouldn't let her pull away. "Stop it, Claire! Stop it."

"You idiot! You fool! What is it going to take to make you see? What will it take to make you understand what you are doing to yourself? SHE WILL KILL YOU! Do you understand that, Leon? She will RUIN YOU! She will tear down everything you love and piss on the ashes! Do you care about that? Or is what is waiting between her perfect thighs worth destroying everything you care about in the whole world?"

He made some sound and jerked her forward. She fought him, struggling. He took a few hits to his injured arm and felt the world catch fire with pain. But he pinned her against the wall and forced her slapping hands to stop hitting him.

He put his face into the bend in her neck and shoulder and held her. She struck at his back until she was breathless and weak from it. And she finally slumped against him, breathing raggedly. He stopped pinning her to wrap his good arm around her and hold her.

"You bastard…" She whispered it. "All this time…you bastard…"

"...you were running too, Claire. You know you were. This isn't all on me."

"Would it have mattered? Would it? If I'd said something in Raccoon City…would it have mattered?"

He drew back to look at her. They held eyes. And he said, "...yes."

The truth hurt them both.

And it was her one great regret.


	7. Girl in the Tower

**The Girl on the Train**

 **Part Seven:**

 **Girl in the Tower**

* * *

 _A fonte puro pura defluit aqua_

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

* * *

 **Silver Lake, Montana 2017**

* * *

Claire breathed, "And now that you know…what now?"

He was so afraid. So terribly afraid. If he did it, if he kissed her, if he fell into her…what would it mean? Everything? Nothing? Would it mean the end? Or the beginning? Or the beginning of the end? What would he do without her? What would he do if he lost her?

But he'd waited too long.

He watched her shut down.

Desperately, terrified, he dropped his mouth to kiss her. She froze, lost, afraid. And then she kissed him back.

It was nearly drowning. He grappled to hold on to her and she tried to pull him closer. She kissed him like she'd never stop. And he was so afraid of what it meant. What it would mean. This couldn't be just a thing that happened with them. It would never be that. It would mean everything and nothing.

Everything she'd said…everything he'd heard. And felt. And done. Of course he'd always wanted her. Of course he had. But how did he tell her everything? How did he tell her all of it? It was more than Ada and so much more complicated.

She was the only woman he'd ever known.

Claire deserved babies and marriage and moonlit walks in the woods. There was no way this would ever be enough for her. Would it be enough for him? Could he hold her, fill her, be inside her and not love her? He loved her now. Had always loved her. But _**IN**_ love with her? The thought terrified him.

He was out of time to decide. She pushed her hands into his sleeping pants and grabbed his ass. He was pretty sure his brain was going to shoot straight out of his dick. They were, apparently, trying to suck each other's faces off when they kissed.

She liked the beard as it scratched at her skin. She wanted to feel him against her. She jerked her long sleeved shirt over her head and tossed it away. Clad in just her bra, she jerked him back against her. They both made some sound at the first real touch of bare skin together. A decade of denying that one night together had left them both desperate.

Yeah, he thought, that's what he knew she'd feel like. She was silky. Her skin was cream and a dash of rose. She had freckles on her shoulders and a fine dusting of them across her bosom. She tasted like summer and looked like a damn masterpiece painting. And her mouth kissed like a pro.

He needed to stop. He had to. Because she needed to know everything and have it all out there before they did this.

His hand were touching her and he hadn't even realized it. He was touching her stomach and back and her breasts. He was playing with her breasts over her damn bra. His body was a traitor. But it had an excuse. It hadn't had a release in a really…really…really…long time.

She made some sound of frustration and put her mouth to his throat. She was chewing on him, licking and nibbling, her tongue was swirling in the hollow his throat. Now was a good time to mention that he hadn't done this in so long that he was afraid he'd suck at it. Right? It was a good time.

She grabbed his face and kissed him again, encouraging him. She wanted to feel what his body would do to her bare and finally hot against her. Claire leaned back to look at his face. He looked…something. Unsure? He kinda looked afraid.

That was ok. She was nervous too. She laughed a little and slid her hand inside of his pants. Her nails scraped so close to his throbbing dick he was pretty sure he'd die on the spot. He caught her around the waist with his good arm and lifted her. He sat her on the kitchen table and stepped between her denim clad legs. He put his face down and buried it in her cleavage. It was the perfect place to smother himself. She had lovely, perky, soft breasts that said "You should have a taste of us."

Claire made a desperate sound and shifted her hands to unlatch the bra in front. He caught her hands and held them, breathing fast and hard. If she did that and he had access to all of her like that. He didn't think he'd be able to stop. He'd start feasting on her and he wouldn't stop until they were both dead.

He had to tell her now. He opened his mouth to confess, and she said, "It's ok. I love you. I want you. You know that. I love you."

I love you.

He froze, terrified. And, for the first time, he heard the I LOVE YOU she was actually saying. I love you.

"...give me a second here, Claire. Christ. We know where this ends, right? It's been...I just...need a breath here..." And he trembled. He trembled like he was nervous or scared or...pent up.

And she got it. Just like that. She understood. And was confused. And was so ungodly turned on. Surely not. He could not possibly untouched at this point. That was ridiculous. But he hadn't said a word...all the lovers she'd thrown at him...and he hadn't said a word.

She finally saw what truth was in front of her: She was the only woman he'd ever touched.

"Leon…" she breathed it, more in love with him then she'd ever been. It would be so perfect. To love him and be the only one for him and the first time for her with someone she loved that was good for her. It was wonderful and humbling and amazing.

"I'm in love with you. I'm so in love with you. I've waited for you too in a way. This is good. I'm ready. I will…be easy and gentle…and we'll just…we'll just love each other." She put her mouth against his chest, kissing. Her teeth nipped at one nipple, drawing his breath in a gasp of pleasure. She kissed down his stomach, licking at him. She nipped across the waistband of his sleeping pants. Drowning, he watched her nip at the pulsing bulge of him through his pants. Good god. He was going to go in his pants like some fifteen year old boy.

She rose, all sexy smiles and desire. "I love you, Leon. I've always loved you. Oh god I can't wait for you anymore." She slid her hand into his pants and he caught her hand.

Her cheeks were pink and blushing. She was so beautiful. She was so perfect. And her love terrified him. It scared him to death. He didn't want that. Didn't want it. He wanted her, yes, he wanted to fall into her and love her and fuck her until they both died from it. And it scared him like no monster he'd ever faced before could.

And so, because he was a coward, he said, "I'm not…I'm not in love with you, Claire. I'm not. Not like that. I can't use you like this. It's too late for us."

She watched his face, frozen. He drew her hand and gave it back to her.

He watched her face and died. Because he saw the moment he killed her. He saw the moment it struck and bled and destroyed her. But it was better. Had to be. This way…he hurt her first and she couldn't hurt him. Right?

But it was a double edged sword after all. He killed her and killed himself too. Because he did love her. Had always loved her. And lying about it nearly killed him.

And hurting her did kill him. It killed some part of him that had always known or wondered or wanted her to be the one for him. It wasn't Ada that held him back. Not really. It was him. Loving her would kill him. It would expose him for the fraud that he was. She would see the emptiness in him. And the anger. And the fear. And the naïve hope. And she would have the power to kill him with it.

She he killed her first.

Claire slid off the table. She picked up her shirt from the floor.

"I should go."

"Claire…" He grabbed her arm and she looked at him. She just looked at him until he let go.

"…you could have lied I guess. You could have fucked me and lied. You didn't. I can appreciate that."

"Don't. I'm not some fucking gentleman. Don't do that." His voice caught, shaming him.

"I have to go now. I'm sorry. I just…I have to go."

"Claire…what can I do? How do I make this right?"

"This isn't your fault. It's mine. I know it's mine. You've never done…it's me. I'll be ok. Guys…they don't last long when they love me right? So it's better that you don't. It's better."

She all but ran out of his house.

He'd done it. He'd avoided falling in love with her. He'd killed that shit before it got out of hand. They were better for it.

They were better for it.

The lie chased him around the kitchen and offered him no solace as he tumbled into bed.

* * *

 **Rome, 2017**

* * *

Claire was in Rome for a meeting with the BSAA European branch. She knew he was headed to Vito De Mare for work. She had bits and pieces of information regarding what he was up to. Chris and Jill were tagging along. It had to do with apprehending Gomez.

She had been surprised that he called.

They hadn't ended things well the last time she'd seen him. She'd fled, broken and sad and wounded. She'd limped off to lick her wounds alone in her loft in New York. She'd come up for air three weeks later.

She wasn't mad at him. Had never been mad at him. His honesty had been good. It had allowed her to start to heal and close the door on him. It was the right thing to do. She would work toward getting over him now. He didn't love her.

He didn't love her.

It would be ok.

He stepped out of the café and turned toward her. He was dressed in a red collared shirt and black slacks. His black shoulder holster looked amazing against all that red. He had on aviator glasses with reflective silver lenses. It would be ok.

Liar.

She died looking at him.

They didn't run to each other and hug.

It was the first time ever that they didn't. They were both aware of the awkwardness when they approached in the street. He offered her the pretty white oleander that he held in his hand. She took it, smiling at him.

"Charmer."

"I have my moments."

She looked beautiful. As always. She was in a yellow lacy dress with a petty black bolero jacket over it. She had ice pick heels in silver that laced up her perfect calves and stopped at her knees. Her hair was curly and caught the sunlight like rubies.

"You look beautiful. Kate Spade?"

His knowledge of fashion was adorable. She smiled a little. "Yep." She touched his shirt sleeve, "Armani?"

"What else?" She could see the hesitance in his face. She hated this awkwardness between them.

"How have you been?"

He shrugged a little, "Good actually. Pretty good. You?"

"Fine." She sniffed the oleander, "I'm surprised you called."

"Yeah," He went with his gut and said, "I missed you."

She closed her eyes. And the pain on her face nearly killed him where he stood. What regrets would always be inside him for her? Too many.

"I missed you too." She said it casually and tried smiling with humor. There was no bitterness in her, just sadness. It made it worse somehow, "How was Canada?"

"Cold."

"I'm sure you loved that."

"I did, yeah. You would have died, Claire. The minke whales, the orca…we took a tour to watch them once the mission was done. You should have seen it. Amazing."

"You went whale watching with your team?"

"No. With Rebecca," He smiled a little, "She'd never seen a whale up close before. She squealed like a little girl."

And there it was.

On his face. There it was. There was the look she'd been afraid of. Rebecca. He said her name like it was a prayer or something. He smiled. He...glowed.

"Rebecca?"

"Yeah. Chambers? Rebecca Chambers."

Rebecca.

His face said there was more to Rebecca than whale watching. His face said there was more to all of it then that. Her belly hurt as she said, "You did more than watch whales."

And there it was again. That look. What was that? But she knew, of course she knew, it was guilt. He glanced down at her and there was guilt. Yeah. There was more to Rebecca.

"Oh." She put her hand to her belly now, "Oh. I see."

"Claire.."

She shook her head and stepped away from him into the shadow of a building. She leaned back on the wall. She breathed a little. "So I wasn't good enough. But Rebecca Chambers was. She gets in under the wire right? How long did you wait to fuck her? She showed up at your place like a few days after I left right? You fuck her right away?"

Oh yeah he did. His face said everything.

"So me…me who's stood by and let you squish me all these years. Who's loved and cared for you…I wasn't good enough for you. But she was? Was it good? I bet it was good."

The pain chased over his face and fired with anger, "It's not like that. It wasn't about you."

That was the wrong thing to say. It was. He knew it the second he said it but Claire responded, "Wasn't it? She's so simple, Rebecca. Calm. Easy going. Not like me right? The girl on the train...the girl with all the demons weighing her down. Too complicated for you. Jesus, we're a joke. All these years. All the lying to each other. We've done nothing but hurt each other. What a joke we are."

He thrummed with anger, "No one's laughing."

Claire moved away from the wall. "You got that right. I can't do this with you anymore."

"Claire!" He grabbed her arm and held her still. "Don't. I never lied to you. I never meant to hurt you. Don't do this. I love you."

"Stop it."

"I do! I love you. You're the only person in the world I can say that to."

She met his eyes. "You waited what? Two days? I've always loved you. Always. And you just gave your heart away to the first uncomplicated girl that stuck her hand in your pants. Is that it?"

His face was so pained. She nearly died from hurting him. But she was wounded. She was angry. She was mortal. It wasn't her way. She wasn't the girl that hurt him. She wasn't. But sometimes? She wasn't "Steely Claire." She wasn't a rock. She was't a safe place for him to land. She was just a fucking girl with her heartbroken. She just was.

"And what about now? What about now, Leon? You love her?"

And the truth of it echoed between them in silence.

"You son of a bitch. I deserve better than that."

"Claire, don't do this."

"It's done, Leon. You're right. Maybe I'm stupid. Maybe I'm the fool here. You coward. You jumped in the sack with someone who you knew wouldn't try to do anything but love you. I bet that feels good, doesn't it? She's a sweet girl, Rebecca. Simple and kind. You could do worse. I won't fucking toast you at your wedding. Nope. You don't deserve that. You coward. You chase one girl that you can't have and one that you'll never love. You think you'll love Rebecca? You can't love Rebecca. You can't love anyone. Not fully. Not completely. That takes risk. And you're a big hero…and a big coward." She shook his hand off, "You get what you want here. You get your simple girl. You get rid of the baggage from me. I won't keep chasing you. Unlike you, I know when enough is enough."

"That's not fair. It's not even right. I was there. I've been here. You never chased me, Claire. You never chased anyone. You just ran. You ran."

She shivered with hurt. "Did I? Or did you? Fuck, we're too messy for this. Too old. And it's too over. I love you so much, Leon. So much. And I _hate_ what you've turned me into...some simpleton hungering for your love. Why didn't you, just once, beg me to stay?"

Shit. This is where they were. It was awful. So many years of pain, of want, of regret. He wasn't sure there was a way to heal it or forget it or forge ahead. But he tried, desperately, "Claire, you are my best friend. I need you." He said it so simply, so brokenly.

She shook her head, "No. I'm just the girl you kept waiting in the wings all these years because you were too much of a coward to try to have something real. She'll make you happy. She'll never push you for more. She'll never ask too much. You won't have to wonder if she'll hurt you. She's probably everything you could ever want. I wish you both happiness. I really, really do."

"Claire," He grabbed her hand and their tattoos touched, "Please. How do I fix it? How? I can't go back and change it. I panicked. I freaked out. But you ran too, god damnit, you ran. Help me fix it. Prove me wrong...don't run."

Her heart hurt looking at them. So many mistakes they'd made. How did they heal it? They couldn't. Like Umbrella, it was finished, but the legacy of that pain would live on.

Some people just weren't meant to be.

"We can't. It's broken. It's not right with us, Leon. Just deal with that and move on. That's what you do when someone you love hurts you. You fucking move on. Go bury yourself between her thighs and forget about it. I'm sure you've done it before. Don't you worry about me. I have a way of getting over the men who try to break me. That's what strong people do. We deal with it. And we don't hide our heads in the sand and cry. Don't call me. I mean it. We're done here."

He shook his head, denying. His hand grabbed hers and flipped it to show their matching tattoos. "Who's the coward now? Don't give up, Claire. Please. How can you be done?"

"Because I'm done. I'm just done. I have to be done. I'm sorry. I am. But I need space to breathe."

"How much?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to fight anymore."

She raced out into the street and away.

He watched her go and he was pretty sure he'd fall apart if he took a step. He was pretty sure he'd shatter like glass and fall apart. So, he leaned on the wall and he just bled inside.

* * *

 **Hoffnung, Germany - 2017**

* * *

He burst into the tower at a full run. The stairs curled in circles up to the very top. The staircase was narrow, claustrophobic and dark. He drove a kick when they came around the corners to fight him. He put a bullet in a knee and jerked, throwing them behind him. When the stairs narrowed, he pulled the sword and kept going.

He spitted two together on the blade and ripped the blade clean, kicking them back as they fell in a burst of blood. Where there were faces, he lunged. Where there bodies, he struck. He reached the top of the stairs, panting, covered in blood.

The roof of the tower was a large circle and high enough in the sky that the wind was a desperate, shoving thing. Lightning snaked across the sky, the perfect backdrop to what was waiting there. The first spatter of rain hit his face as he moved, slowly.

"Drop it please."

Ada held Rebecca against her, the gun to her temple. She was frightened but unharmed. She was softer, fuller, more beautiful than he'd been able to remember. The sight of her nearly broke him at the same time it empowered him.

He tossed aside the sword and it clattered across the rooftop.

"The gun too."

He jerked it clean and tossed it.

It didn't matter. It wasn't about weapons now. Not anymore. The thunder rumbled and the wind kicked up more rain. Down below, the sounds of fighting rose to echo on the wind.

"You didn't come alone."

Leon shook his head. "Not this time."

"It doesn't matter. I've done all I can for you. This is how it has to end."

"Yeah…this is how it has to end." He held his hands out, palms open, "Let her go, Ada. Just once, do the right thing here."

The rain converted to a steady pouring. Lightning split the sky and flashed, bright and close. Down below, gun fire peppered the air like fireworks.

Ada said, "For what it's worth, I wanted to love you. It seems some of us just aren't capable of that."

"That and a buck fifty might just be enough to get me on the subway. But otherwise, it doesn't matter a great deal. Let her go, Ada. Now."

"I've done what I can to repay some past mistakes. I let the game get ahold of me and made a few missteps. But I never intended to lose. Somehow I'm standing here the loser."

"So, make it right. Let Rebecca go."

Ada sighed, centering herself.

"Rebecca?" He called to her but kept his gaze on Ada, "You ok?"

"Yes. I'm not hurt. They told me you were dead. They told me you were gone. I knew they lied. I played it safe and close to the vest. I knew you would come."

He laughed a little and touched the cross on his chest. "Thanks to this."

"No. That's a symbol. The strength has always been in you."

Ada shoved Rebecca away from her, just like that. Rebecca ran toward him. He caught her, one armed, against his body and put her behind him. He wanted to hold her until he fell apart from it but he put her behind him.

And he faced the bitch in red.

Rebecca said, softly, "I have so many things to tell you."

"Me too."

Ada moved to the edge of the roof. "I have to go get Albert. This isn't where his story ends. But ours? I think ours ends today, Leon. Not how I wanted it to. But sometimes, we just have to take the ending we get."

"Ada! Don't!"

He started for the gun and she shot him. Just like that. She drilled him. The bullet drilled him in the chest plate and put him on his ass. He skidded backward from the impact. He felt like he'd been drop kicked by a buffalo.

"Stay down, Leon! The next one goes in your head!"

"You first, you bitch!"

He turned his head and saw Rebecca there, aiming his pistol at Ada. Thunder rumbled, crashing loud and infuriating. Lightning flashed, too close. He could all but hear it sizzle.

He rose to one knee.

Rebecca stood between him and Ada.

Ada tilted her head, studying her. "Little mouse. Don't be a fool. Think about what you're risking."

"Sometimes you have to risk everything."

"If you kill me, he'll still have been mine first. You can't erase me with a bullet."

"No but I can kill you with one. You don't get to run away this time. Not this time. It's time to face the music, Ada. Your dance is over."

Down below the fighting had gone silent. The good guys were dead or they were coming. And time was up.

"Stupid little fool. You die for nothing." Ada pulled the trigger. Two guns went off simultaneously in a flash of lightning. Thunder echoed the boom of it.

Ada Wong was clutching her throat. Blood pumped between her fingers as she staggered back. Shock was written all over her beautiful face even as she slipped and tumbled back into the darkness.

Leon rose and hurried to Rebecca. He couldn't believe that she'd done it. He grabbed her arm to turn her.

She turned and the gun slipped from her fingers. It bounced onto the stone beneath her with a clatter of metal. She grabbed at the hole in her chest.

"No…" He wasn't aware that he'd shouted it. He caught her as she fell forward and laid her on the roof. His gloved hands slapped over hers, putting pressure over the gushing wound. "No."

He said it again as if it would matter. The wound didn't seep, it poured. It gushed between his blocking fingers. He didn't realize he was saying no over and over again. He kept trying to stop the bleeding.

She grabbed his wrists and held him. "Leon…" The blood spilled from her mouth. "Stop. Stop it! Look at me, please, hurry."

"Hold on, ok? Just…" He glanced desperately at the sky for the chopper, "Where the fuck is the back up!?"

"They won't make it. Leon, they won't make it." Her voice whispered, "Please."

"Shh. Stop talking. Save your strength."

The good guys were on the roof now and running toward them. Jill shouted, "NO!" Chris slid to his knees beside her and jerked his shirt off. Leon stuffed it against he wound and leaned on it, hard. Rebecca coughed, pale now and cold. "Please…Leon…so much to tell you…"

"There's time! Hold on!"

The chopper was close now and getting closer.

"Leon…I love you."

"Stop! Please!" His face was desperate, lost, and broken, "Just hold on for me."

"You came…I knew you'd come. I need you to…have….faith."

"Don't…please. Don't. Rebecca."

But she was silent now and the air slipped once more, wet and weak, from her lungs. The chopper was right above them now. "Rebecca?" Her name was soft, a whisper.

The blood wasn't gushing now. He pulled her into him and sat up, holding her in his lap like a child. He rocked, making some sound that was so much worse than crying. It was the sound of grief that penetrates fast and hard. It was the sound of failure. It was the sound the soul makes as it breaks and scatters uselessly in the pouring rain.

Chris rose and turned away. Kevin turned away. Men, Jill thought desperately, supposed to be the strongest creatures on earth. But they couldn't stand in the face of Leon Kennedy's grief.

"Leon…"

Leon shook his head.

Jill knelt beside him. She touched his face. He turned his eyes to her. "Let go now. Leon? Let go."

He shook his head again.

"She's gone, Leon. Let me take her now. Let me take her."

His eyes turned down to her. Boneless, she lay in his arms. Her face was pressed against his chest and the cross that lay there. He started to shake, uncontrollably, like he had hypothermia. He kissed her and her mouth was cold.

The grief sank its teeth so hard into his throat he was pretty sure it would rip him open and spill his blood with hers all over the rooftop. Jill, feeling useless and lost, touched his arm and waited. He made a sound like a wounded animal and started weeping.

She'd thought there would be nothing worse than watching him fight his way back from the hammered mess he'd been. She was wrong. This…this was the most horrible thing she'd ever seen. His loss was so deep, so raw, and so wide that it drew blood where it cut, forcing you into his mourning with you.

A few long moments passed and the silence rose to surround them. There was nothing now but the pouring rain and the whir of the helicopter blades. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The rain washed the blood away in a pink river.

Chris turned back and crouched down. He grabbed Leon's forearm. The other man shifted his grip on Rebecca and grabbed him back. Their hands locked just at each other's elbows and held, hard. It was a boy hug when Leon needed a boy hug.

"Let me take her."

He opened his eyes. Two sets of blue. Two sets of grief.

Leon nodded and he let her go. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He let her go.

Chris lifted her, easily, bonelessly. He held her against him like she was precious and small. And she was. This tiny little girl who'd stood in front of him and protected him. He felt the loss in his bones, in his blood.

Leon shifted to his knees on the rooftop. His hands were still filled with her blood. Her blood was on his hands. He made some sound and Jill slid between his hands and put her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her and wept. He cried like he'd leave pieces of himself on the rooftop around them. He cried with his whole body, his whole being.

He ground his head at her neck and shoulder and she held him so tight she was pretty sure they'd both bruise from it. But she'd stay there, kneeling with him forever, if that's what it took. The rain eased back, a soft misty drizzle now against them.

Finally, he let her go. She eased back, looking at his face. "Are you ready?"

Was he? No.

But he got up anyway.

He got up.

Because Rebecca wouldn't have it any other way. So, he got up.

He looked at her, watching him in the rain. "Wesker?"

She shook her head, slowly. "One of those big fat Ganado grabbed him. We lost him in the fray. Ada?"

Leon stared off into the rolling clouds, breathing. He was breathing, so that meant he was alive. But he felt dead. He felt dead. Empty. "Rebecca shot her in the throat. She fell over."

"We'll have someone get her body."

He didn't care.

He shook his head and moved to the edge of the roof. He looked down. And he knew what he'd see when he did. He knew.

She wasn't there.

She wasn't splattered on the ground beneath them.

She wasn't dead.

And Rebecca had died for nothing.


	8. Homeward Bound

**The Girl on the Train**

 **Part Eight:**

 **Homeward Bound**

* * *

 _A fonte puro pura defluit aqua_

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

* * *

 **Silver Lake, Montana 2017**

* * *

Rebecca was dead. The damage was done. Her jealousy had brought about the death of a girl she'd loved most of her life.

She'd cost Leon a wife. She'd cost the baby a mother. She'd cost them all because she'd loved him, she'd loved him and hated his ability to move on without her.

It left her aching in ways she couldn't understand. There was no way to take it back. No way to make it better. It was like a lake of blood that flowed red and wet beneath the fractured path of their regret.

The pain all over him broke her to pieces. How they'd left things...what had happened...it was too much. It killed her to see him there. Her hands hurt with wanting to touch him.

Claire ran. Hell, yeah she ran. She leapt a little and he caught her against him, feet dangling. He put his face in her neck and breathed her in. She cuddled him, aching in places that had no name.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered it, muffled, against his neck. He shook his head, held her tighter and rocked.

She kissed his ear, kissed his cheek, kissed his closed eye. She kissed his mouth, soft and gentle. He made some sound of pain and regret. He lowered her slowly to the ground. She cupped his face, looking at him.

On the porch, Chris Redfield had a moment of complete clarity. His sister was in love with Leon Kennedy. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, being her big brother. He let it digest.

"They said you'd lost your hair." Her voice broke a little, she skimmed his cheeks and the tears there, "They said you'd lost your eye. But I think…I think this look works on you."

"The hair will grow back," His voice was gruff and pained.

"Oh god I hope so!" She laughed through her tears, she fisted her hands in his flannel shirt. "Leon…I missed you so much."

He made sound of grief and she grabbed him, holding on. "How do I help you? Tell me, I'll do it."

"You're here. That's a start."

She put her hand against his face, "I need to give you something."

She turned back to the truck and opened the back door. He waited, hands in his back pockets. He'd missed her so much it was like raw pain in his gut. From the other side of the truck, Jill emerged.

She moved toward him, her short dark hair in a little messy ponytail behind her head. She wore a green hoodie with the Notre Dame logo on it. He turned toward her and she pulled him in.

Their foreheads touched. She held his face. He grabbed her biceps. He closed his eyes, holding her against him, and breathed. It was, for the first time, a little easier to do it. They said nothing, just stood there in the dying sun, holding each other.

On the porch, Chris had his second revelation of the day. He leaned on the railing, watching. "I'll be damned…"

Jill was in love with him too. Did the guy have pheromones that leaked off him or what? He must have a dick made of gold. Rebecca, Claire, Jill…Ada Wong. These women just fell all over themselves for the guy. In a way, he was super glad it wasn't him. That was a big fucking mess with no happy ending.

Jill opened her eyes and met his. "You need to be ready."

"For what?" He felt her fingers on his face and opened his eyes. There, he thought, there was the love that scared him. He shied away from it.

"Leon?"

He turned back to Claire…and the baby she held.

It was small and wrapped in a poofy pink blanket. It…she…was asleep and sucking her tiny fist. He glanced up at Claire's face, glanced at Jill beside him. Chris moved up to the other side. He looked between the three of them.

"I don't…I don't understand."

Jill grabbed his forearm. Chris held his gaze. "That's why we stayed. It's why I didn't run. Why Rebecca didn't run."

Something cold and painful was spilling through his stomach. He turned back to Claire. She nodded, crying softly. "It was Ada. It was Ada that showed me. It was Ada who let me go with her. Rebecca…she told me to take her. So, I did it. I took her and ran."

He said again, softly, "I don't understand."

Chris replied, quietly, "Yes you do."

The pain clawed up his guts and brought a sound from his throat. He glanced desperately between them. "I don't understand what you're saying to me."

Jill turned him a little toward her. Her face was calm, steady. It eased his panic a little. She cupped his cheek. "That is your daughter, Leon. Yours and Rebecca's. She is yours."

He turned back to the little pink bundle. She was awake now, watching his face. She was pink and soft, tiny, her blue eyes seemed wise beyond her years. Claire held her out to him.

He shook his head. He stepped back.

Claire looked stricken, "Leon…"

"No. Take her away. All of you just go away. Leave me the hell alone."

Chris took a step after him, "Leon, don't be stupid."

Leon turned around, all fury. "You come here…you show up…and you tell me what? That everyone was lying. That this…this baby is mine? That Rebecca had our baby in that filthy castle, alone, scared and then died to save my worthless ass? And what? WHAT!? She left me alone to raise a baby? Is that it?!"

No one said anything.

He shook his head at them. "Fuck you all. Get off my property."

He slammed the door to the house.

They all stood there for a long moment. Claire finally instructed them. "Go."

Chris and Jill hesitated. She nodded, "It's ok. I know what he needs. Go."

Claire took the baby into the house.

She put her in the little bouncy seat they'd bought for her. She then set about making dinner. She played with the baby while she cooked, tickling little toes and kissing her little mouth. He came down stairs some hours later and saw her.

"I told you to leave…and take that baby with you."

"No." Claire put a plate on the table for him. "Sit down and eat."

"Fuck that."

"Sit down and eat, you stubborn asshole. Or I'll kick your ass and make you."

Leon snorted and went back upstairs. Claire turned to the baby and sighed, "That's your daddy, little girl. But don't worry…he's mule headed, yes. But he's loyal and loving and very, very kind. He's always a coward. And afraid of a tiny baby. But we'll fix that."

She carried the baby and the seat up the stairs. She set them both on the floor of his bedroom. He came out of the shower a few minutes later.

Claire was sitting on the floor with the baby in her seat, playing with her toes.

"Are you deaf or stupid? I said get out."

He crossed to his closet to dress. Claire watched him, very aware of his ass when he jerked off the towel. And very aware of the anger.

She said, to the baby quietly, "That's your daddy, little girl. He sure is sexy. He sure is stupid about girls. But I'll you what…you'll be his favorite girl anyway. So, we'll fix that."

She rose as he came out of the closet in his jeans and a v-neck navy tee. "Damnit, Claire. Can't you take the hint?"

Claire nodded and moved toward the door. "Fine. I'll go."

"Wait!" He sounded a little desperate, "Take that baby."

She stopped, eyed him. And she loved him. It was painful. So very painful. Because she knew the haunting guilt of loving him would stay with her for a long time. But there was time for that. Plenty of time for that.

For now, this is what mattered.

"Nope. That's your baby. You take her. Pick up your baby, Leon. Hold her. Stop being a fucking coward. She won't bite. She won't blow up. She won't die on you!"

She watched the pain arrow into him. And god she loved him. It hurt her to hurt him…but he needed it. Sometimes you had to bleed out the poison to heal. "Don't you dare disrespect Rebecca by turning away her child. Pick up the baby, Leon. Stop being an asshole."

She walked out of the room. Two steps down the hallway she leaned against the wall and put her fist to her mouth. She held back the tears. She wanted to go back. She wanted to hold him while he died and cried and healed. But that wouldn't help him now.

This? This would.

In the bouncy seat, the baby started to fuss, clearly sensing her one ally had fled. Leon blinked at her as her little face screwed up in rage and she started bawling.

Fuck.

He glanced around for help but, of course, he was alone.

The baby wiggled, its cherub fatness was no desperately pissed off. She flailed her little fat arms. She was wearing a pink onesie with a picture of a cat on it. Her pink blanket was still tucked around her but she was mad enough that she was going to knock it loose any minute.

"Stop that now. I mean it. You'll get cold."

She sobbed and it broke something inside of him to hear it.

Leon made some sound of grief as he took the tiny pink bundle out of the seat. She went instantly silent. She watched him, silently sucking her fist. She had her mama's nose. Leon tucked her into his arm and ran his finger, hesitantly, over her cheek….and the baby smiled at him.

It was her mama's smile too.

He said, softly, "Oh my god…" And for the first time since Rebecca had died…he smiled. He was afraid the pain and the love that bloomed and filled up his chest would cause it to burst and spill his blood all over the tiny thing he held. He looked at her like she held the universe in one tiny fist. And maybe she did.

Maybe she'd always been the reason. Maybe she'd always been the thing that he was meant to do. Maybe this was what love made, what love created, what love left when everything else was gone. This. He'd never loved anything more.

He placed her in the bouncy seat and strapped her in, she watched him, looking into his soul. Would she find it lacking?

He picked up his guitar.

In the hallway, Claire froze, rooted to the spot. His voice was beautiful. It lifted, soft and soothing. What was that he was singing?

But, of course, it was _Now and Forever._

 _Sometimes I just hold you, too caught up in me…I'm holding a fortune, that heaven has given to me…I'll try to show you each and every way I can..now and forever…I will be your man..._

That's your daddy little girl, Claire thought desperately, he's a little lost right now. He's a little broken. But I think you'll fix that.

The only question left was how she could help him do it. She figured maybe that answer was out there too. She moved into the doorway when the music stopped.

He lifted his gaze to her. That face…had she ever seen such love on a face before?

"Claire…what's her name?"

But, of course, he knew that answer. Of course, he did.

She answered him, softly, "Faith."

Yes. It couldn't be anything else.

He picked up the guitar again. The tears on his face were murder to her. She wanted to cross the room and pour herself over him and protect him from the pain of it all. Instead, she just listened.

 _When the visions around you, bring tears to your eyes…and all that surrounds you, are secrets and lies…I'll be your strength, I'll give you hope, keeping your faith when it's gone…the one you should call was standing here all along…and I will take you in my arms and hold you right where you belong…till the day my life is through..this I promise you…this I promise you…_

The baby gurgled smiling.

 _I've loved you forever, in lifetimes before…and I promise you never..will you hurt anymore..I give you my word, I give you my heart…this is a battle we've won…and with this vow..forever has now begun…_

The song ended. And he smiled at her.

The baby was mesmerized. Was there a woman alive who didn't love Leon Kennedy?

"Faith," He said quietly and picked her up. He held her up until they were eye to eye, "Will you be mine?"

But, of course, he knew that answer as well.

Yes.

Claire nearly killed herself walking away.

But it was what they both needed. In this moment? He needed his daughter. He needed his peace.

And she needed her space to recover. So it was the first moment in her life that Claire knew how it felt to walk away from everything that mattered. She left him with his daughter. She left him with his grief and his hope.

There was nothing to fight here. Nothing to slay. Nothing to kill. She couldn't save him, because she'd already given him everything he needed to save himself.

There was nothing here for her to save. She'd given him back the life she'd stolen from him. She was no longer haunted by the grief that came with thinking she'd stolen their happiness when she'd left him after Raccoon City.

Here there was nothing left to haunt her.

She paused on the step and saw the shimmer above the house. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe there was still something haunting them both.

But it wasn't their history. No anymore.

It was the lab mouse who'd given him faith.

They were both haunted by the ghost of Rebecca Chambers.

* * *

 **Chesapeake Bay, 2018**

* * *

The door of the cabin opened. She didn't think he'd show up. She honestly didn't.

She hadn't seen him since the day they'd brought his daughter to him. She'd backed off, backed away, and left him to heal. She'd wanted to guide him, hold him, help him. She wanted to beg him to forgive her for hurting him that day in the street.

She'd been so heartbroken, so sad. She'd lashed out and ran away. And Rebecca had died. And he'd nearly died. And she'd nearly died from the pain of it.

So the door of the cabin opened and in he came.

The hair was nearly back to perfect. It fell around his face like liquid gold. The sunglasses on his face were polarized orange and perfect. The smile was even better.

"I didn't know if you'd be here."

"I didn't know if you'd come."

He was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and khaki shorts. He wore leather sandals on his feet. And he carried the most perfect little girl in his arms with curly blonde hair.

She was gorgeous. And had to be close to a year old now. She wore a little pink sundress and had tiny white sandals on her feet. Claire glanced at him and then at her.

And then she said, "Hi Faith. I'm Claire. You want to come here for a minute so your Daddy can get your bags?"

She put her hands out.

Faith stared at her. Claire was in her pink bikini top and some white shorts. She felt like she was under inspection by the attorney general for war crimes. She waited, nervous. Faith glanced up at Leon who smiled at her. "Your choice, kiddo." And finally the little girl put her arms out.

Feeling like she'd won a great victory, Claire took her.

Faith studied her while she held her.

Leon set bags inside the door and then noticed something that kept his interest for a moment. Claire had set up a pack n' play for his kid. She had a box of diapers sitting there, wipes, bottles. And a pack n' play. She hadn't even known that he'd show up.

Touched, he glanced over at them.

They were staring at each other in curiousity. Faith grabbed a lock of her red hair and yanked. Claire winced but said nothing. Faith tugged again and Claire said, "Ouch."

And his daughter laughed. She giggled that delighted sound that babies make when they are amused. She tugged again. Sensing the game, Claire upped the hamming a bit. She exclaimed, "Ouchie!"

Faith leaned in and kissed her mouth.

Claire glanced at him and her eyes were a little teary. "Can I keep her?"

"Sorry. I kinda love her." He rubbed a hand against the cross under his shirt as he went into the kitchen to make lemonade. Claire played with the baby like a pro. Peekaboo. Eat the feeties. She was excellent with her.

They were easy with each other in a way they hadn't been in a long time. They joked, laughing. They made dinner and went swimming. Someone on the beach remarked about how Faith "looked just like her mama". Touched, Claire blushed.

She watched from the kitchen as he broke out the guitar and sang his daughter to sleep. Would there ever be a time that she didn't love him? Could she sit by and watch him find someone else, love someone else, and lose him again? She couldn't, wouldn't, regret Rebecca. Not now. Not looking at what she'd given him. She'd seen the cross, she knew she'd someday have the courage to ask about it. He wasn't a religious man. So it was clearly deeper than that.

Rebecca had done more than given him Faith. She'd given him faith. It resonated around him. He was more complete now than Claire had ever seen him. She wasn't sure there was a place, anymore, in her life for him.

Maybe it was time to let him go.

She didn't think she could keep sitting in support of him while he found someone else. She didn't think her heart would survive it twice. She'd lost him to Ada. She'd lost him to Rebecca. She couldn't lose him again. She just wasn't that strong.

Whatever else happened, she knew she couldn't live without him in her life. She couldn't play second fiddle forever. Because she had a hole in her heart in the shape of Leon Kennedy and she couldn't fill it with anyone else.

When Faith was asleep, he set the guitar aside.

He found her on the back porch of the cabin, looking out over the beach and the cloudless sky. A cool breeze came off the bay, bringing the fine scent of coming rain and the healing power of summer. He sat next to her in the accompanying rocking chair.

They rocked for awhile together in silence.

"Do you want to tell me about Rebecca?"

He turned his head to look at her. "Do you want to hear about her?"

She stared out into the bay, watching the moonlight silver the water as the soft waves came in. Maybe it was time to let him go without regret. She turned her head to look at him.

"Did you love her?"

And he answered, "Yes."

She nodded, feeling the spark of tears in her eyes. "Ok."

"You couldn't not love her. She was good, kind, loyal. She was the mother of that little girl in there. Of course I loved her. Had she lived, I would have married her."

Claire nodded and the first spill of tears fell. She wiped her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm stupid." She laughed a little, "This is hard for me."

"I know that." The sound of the water was comforting. He rose, "Wait here."

She watched the waves, listening to the sound of it as it rushed in and back out. Was there anything else like it in the world? Was there anything else that filled the soul with such peace? She closed her eyes and listened.

He sat down in the chair beside her again with his guitar.

"I had a talk with Rebecca this morning while I was getting stuff together to come out here. I asked her if it was ok if I moved on." He strummed a few chords, "It's been so hard. Raising Faith helps. She kept me distracted when it would get bad at night. But it wasn't hard for me to remember that Rebecca loved me. She just…she loved me…and there was no malice in it. There was no pain. There was just…light. She would die if she was here and saw the mess I'd let myself become before Faith came to me. She would kill me if I never…moved on."

He started the song on his guitar, "So I don't always have the right words…but somebody else usually does…"

And because music punctuated their friendship from the very beginning; it turned out he had the words they needed right then as well. She gripped her hands in her lap and watched him while he sang. Was there any way she couldn't love him?

 _But I never told you…what I should have said…no I never told you…I just held it in…I miss everything about you…can't believe that I still want you..after all the things that we've been through….I miss everything about you…_

This man who sang his daughter to sleep. Who'd pushed so fast, so far, and nearly died. Who wore scars that made him beautiful and had a soul to match. She was so far gone that she figured she'd probably die from it, if one could die from regret.

 _I see your blue eyes, every time I close mine...you make it hard to see…where I belong to, when I'm not around you…it's like I'm not with me…_

The song ended and he smiled at her. "I don't know if it would have made a difference all those years ago in Raccoon. Maybe it would have. Maybe I had to go through everything I've gone through to get here. I can't regret it, Claire. I can't. But I can regret never saying what I should have said to you a thousand times."

He offered his hand, she took it and their tattoos touched.

"Keep fighting right?"

She smiled, teary eyed. "Right. You have to forgive me, Leon. For Raccoon City. For leaving you. You have to forgive me."

He shook his head, "Nothing to forgive. Not anymore. Claire, we've spent too long blaming each other. No more blame here. Come inside."

He lifted her up and brought her inside with him. He led her into the bedroom. She closed the door behind them and leaned back against the door breathing hard and fast.

The little Echo Dot on his dresser was playing that song. THAT SONG.

 ** _Lucky_**.

She met his eyes in the semi-darkness. "I need to hear you say it."

He tugged her against him and danced. They danced there in the bedroom. She put her head on his shoulder.

"I love you, Claire. I've always loved you. I wasn't ready before…but I'm ready now. So what do you say?"

She lifted her head and met his eyes. They held, held. And she said, "I need to know it. That once we do this..it has to be everything, Leon. I can't have it otherwise. I think I'd die. And..I want to have more children."

"Claire…I don't know any other way but all the way. I'm in." He smiled, brilliant and rich in the candlelight. "Based on the one in the other room…I think I can do that. You got a time frame in mind for that?"

She pushed. He let her. He fell backwards onto the bed and bounced. She climbed atop him and took his face in her hands. They kissed, soft, smooth. Her belly rolled.

The boy in the uniform, the girl on the train…twenty years to find their way to each other. She had no regrets either. She couldn't.

They'd found their way here and every step along that road had let to it.

They rolled over the bed, lost in each other. The boy in the uniform, the girl on the train. The press of their naked bodies together, finally, was slow and soft and perfect. She lay there, for a long moment, feeling him against her. She could feel the press of his chest, his hips, the length of his leg. She put her hands on his back and stroked him. He cupped her face and kissed, long and deep and wet.

She held his gaze and gave him an answer, "How does now work for you?"

He grabbed her hands, put them above their heads and held tight. He slid into her in a single, slow, breath stealing dive. They both made some sound of completion. "I think now is just about right."

And he finally, totally, and utterly opened the door and let in the girl on that train. The timing, it seemed was finally...completely...right.

* * *

 _This is one possible end for Leon after Absolution. For the others, you want to read The Jill Sandwich. Fractures in Fate and A Tale of Two Hearts. Things interweave through all of my stuff - like a Choose your own Adventure in a way. The way the world can just - splinter._


End file.
